


Crosshairs

by lzcatalina



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Harry and Louis have commitment issues, M/M, Top Harry, Top Louis, but death (or the threat of it) never stopped true love now did it?, but not like the cliche 'oh Louis has commitment issues' thing, graphic smut because helllllooooo that's why we're all here, mostly of the 'they will literally kill us if we're seen together' variety, possibly graphic violence idk, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lzcatalina/pseuds/lzcatalina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I love you. Now run. And never let me catch you."</p><p>The Russian and Irish mafias have two rules: you leave in a body bag, and fraternization with the enemy gets you killed.</p><p> Louis Tomlinson’s idea of commitment is the battered cat he found on the side of the road, not a beautiful boy the Irish mafia might have him kill one day. Harry Styles can’t afford to fall in love with anyone who could leave him with deeper scars than the Russian Death’s Little Helpers carved into his body.</p><p> Louis and Harry see it as a challenge and a thrill whenever their teams are thrown together for assignments, whether they’re working together or . . . not. They can’t wait for each other, not when safe contact outside their hotel bed doesn’t exist, and every time could be the last.</p><p>But after ten years each time they say goodbye is harder than the last and the looming question haunts them: Am I strong enough to pull the trigger when the order comes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ships are launching from my chest

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably end up being 30k or so.

Louis Tomlinson woke in a cold sweat and panic, with the echoes of bullets in his ears, feeling very much like that goldfish trying to breathe out of water in those asthma adverts. An accurate comparison, as it turned out, for the moment he rolled over in bed to see his beta, Oceana, flopping around outside its bowl, about to get eaten by the cat.

“Smokestack, I will literally kill you.”

His blue smoke Maine Coon cat took one look at him, yowled once, and scampered from the room. He reached across the bed and put Oceana back in its bowl. The fish lie stunned for a moment before it did a flip and darted to the other side of the fake, plastic trees. Satisfied, Louis wiped his wet, fishy hand on his t-shirt, peeled that off, and headed for the bathroom for a wee and a shower.

Louis had a lazy wank, washed his hair, and scrubbed his skin until it was pink and the water ran cold—anything to delay getting dressed and going out. He studied his closet with a frown. On one side he had black skinny jeans and jumpers and fitted t-shirts; on the other, dress suits and collared button-downs and slacks.

He touched the wrist of the blue jumper with a wry smile. It made his eyes look fantastic, but it would be easier to hide knives in the starched, pressed dress shirt already hanging over the back of his desk chair. He looked back at the jumper that gave him—he had it on good authority—very cute sweater paws. Too bad a room full of trained assassins didn’t care about his attempts to look adorable when trying to get cute boys to take him home for the night.

He dressed with care, managing to slip in a few knives even though the invitation expressly said no one was allowed to kill or be killed tonight.

“This is stupid, Nialler,” Louis whined into his phone over his quick dinner of tea, a hard-boiled egg, and toast with jam. “We’re going to get killed tonight.”

“No, we’re not, Lou. Anatolyev promised no one is allowed to kill anyone tonight.”

Louis made a face into the phone, but realized Niall couldn’t actually see him right now. Then again, knowing Niall Horan, the genius computer geek hacker who could disarm the U.S. president with a click of his mouse, probably had hidden cameras somewhere around this apartment just to keep tabs on him. He eyed the potted bamboo plant Niall had given him as a flat warming gift three years ago with distrust.

“Oh yes, let’s trust the fuckin’ Russian brotherhood that tried to kill us three days ago that we’re all just big, fat chums. Chum _bucket_ is more like it.”

“Tommo, would you calm down?”

“No, I will not calm down, Horan. It’s my one duty in life to annoy you.”

“And what a great job you’re doing.”

“Oi, piss off.”

“Seriously though, bro. Are you gonna be okay tonight? I can have extra eyes and ears inside tonight if you feel like we need the security. I _am_ your handler for that very reason.”

Louis took a swallow of his tea and willed his hands to stop trembling. _They can’t kill you tonight, they can’t kill you tonight, they can’t kill you tonight._ “Nah. A little party never killed nobody.” He pocketed his car keys and kissed Smokestack goodbye. “B-Y-O-B, though, he probably poisoned the cocktails.”

Niall’s loud, cackling laugh cut off as he hung up, pocketed his phone, and got in the elevator, cursing the still-broken stairs his landlord had yet to fix. Maybe if he threatened to kill him the job would finally get done. His elderly neighbor beamed back at him.

“How are you today, dearie?”

“Going to a fancy party, Mrs. Bennett.”

“Oh my, won’t that be fun?”

“Yes ma’am, it’s a spy party.” He gave her a quick hug and disappeared before she could realize he wasn’t joking.

It was a short drive from his flat to the SIS building, once he fought through the bloody Vauxhall Cross traffic, unfortunately. A little more time with his thoughts would’ve been nice. What in God's name did the MI5 and MI6 want to mingle with them for anyway? They were way more . . . rogue. 

He stared through the steering wheel at MI6's headquarters. His hands shook again.

“This is stupid. Come on, Tommo; get your head in gear. Think about something else, anything else, just go inside.” He took a deep breath. “Fuck this, time to get laid.” If he couldn’t kill anyone tonight, maybe he could fuck them instead. There had to be a free pass situation for that, too, right?

He pulled down the side street next to the building, noting the cameras that followed his every move, and the sniper rifles peeking out of several of the windows. Of course. Because it wasn't like he'd been _invited_ here or anything. "Would you fuckers just let me in?" he shouted at the nearest camera.

He slid into the elevator right as the doors were closing. He settled against the wall with a shudder and wished he’d taken the stairs. _Final Destination_ had really messed him up as a kid. Sorry not sorry.

Louis flicked his gaze to the curly-haired guy in a suit next to him. “What kind of international spy network has fucking mixers? I swear to God I don’t understand how any of these people’s brains work.”

“So we can all get in a room together and pretend like we didn’t spend this entire week trying to hunt down and kill each other. It’s like a three hour no man’s land ceasefire where we all get really drunk and really handsy.” The guy turned to Louis with a wisp of a grin and Louis brightened considerably. He was hot.

“No idea why they called it ceasefire mixer,” Louis said. “I’m pretty sure _The Spy Who Shagged Me_ would’ve worked too. Except we all fit the bill here and we’re not that god-awful movie.”

“Sex, Booze, and Murder Party would’ve been just as accurate.”

“Sounds about right.” Louis smiled. “You look familiar. Harold, right? From Anatolyev’s outfit?”

“Just Harry, and yeah, Russian spy at your service.”

“How did an American like you get in with Russia?”

Harry grinned. _Oh wow. Dimples_. “Dumb luck, I guess.”

“I bet it was those dimples.”

Harry laughed. The sound was glorious and Louis preened at the success. “Yep. What can I say? It makes even the most hardened criminals weak in the knees.”

“Well, I don’t know about _weak_ in the knees, but wanna _get_ on their knees, yeah, I could see that.”

Louis froze. He hadn’t intended to say that. Being out in Russia wasn’t safe and who knew which way Harry swung. After all, the guy could kill him right now and make it sure no one ever found his body.

Harry swallowed, the sound loud in the silence of the elevator. He seemed to consider this, staring at his feet, and then snapped his eyes to Louis. “Why? You interested?”

Louis’ mouth went dry. “You offering?”

Harry nodded. “If you are.”

Louis hit the stop button and the elevator slammed to a halt with a groaning wail. They stumbled into each other. “God, we are so an Ed Sheeran cliché.” He wasn’t shaking anymore.

“Hey, I like that song. Heard he’s a nice guy too.”

“Me too.” He looked down at the noticeable bulge in Harry’s jeans. “Anyway, where was I?”

“I think,” Harry murmured against his neck, “you were just about to get on your knees for me, pretty boy.” He pressed his lips to Louis’ neck, right at the junction where his neck met his shoulder, and sucked hard. Louis knew his mouth would leave a bright red mark for the rest of the night and it thrilled him.

It made feel him hot and wanted. Even though he’d only properly known Harry for less than five minutes, they’d seen each other in and around the business for two years, and of course, since they were frequently on opposing sides, they had to be aware of each other.

Louis was very, _very_ aware of him right at this moment.

Louis lowered to his knees and shifted so he could partially lean against the wall to support his back. He licked a long line up Harry’s zipper, tongue broad and dragging against the denim. The man let out a loud breath, halfway between a grunt and a moan. He breathed hot air and felt Harry’s cock twitch against his lips.

“God Tomlinson, do you always move this fast?” Harry wondered breathlessly, hands clutching desperately against the smooth glass.

“Trust me, I’ve fucked guys on less than this, don’t sweat it, hot lips.”

“Hot lips? Oh my god, do you even— _oh_.”

He hurried to get the zipper undone, shoved Harry’s jeans and pants down his thighs, and caught his breath at the sight of Harry’s cock, hard, and big, and _right there_. His mouth watered. He’d often found himself wondering about it over the years, fantasizing about it, and now it was here, right in front of him.

Harry took a deep breath and his cock bobbed with the movement, curving up towards his stomach. “Well, go on then, love, it’s not gonna suck itself.”

Louis burst out laughing and looked up at Harry. “Funny.”

“No, but really. They’re gonna come looking for us.”

“Oohhh, this feels like sixth form all over again.”

“That’s, like, high school, right?”

“God, you’re so American.” Louis huffed a laugh, licked his lips, and stretched out his tongue to taste Harry. _Finally_.

The screech and jar of the elevator jerking to a start made Harry stumble back into the opposite wall. Louis rolled towards the doors with a yelp. “Shit, shit, shit!” Harry said, trying to stuff his cock back in his pants and press his erection down all at once. “How did they get the elevator working?”

“No idea.” Louis sprang to his feet and wiped his mouth on his shirt, praying it wasn’t obvious what they’d been doing. If anyone caught on they would most certainly, literally be dead by morning.

Louis closed his eyes and tried to breathe in and out.

The door opened and relief spread through Louis so strong he swayed forward. “Jesus, Nialler, you scared me.”

“You do realize that I had to hack the security cameras so no one would find out about this, right?” Niall pulled Louis forward by his tie out of the elevator and ran a hand through his bottle-blonde hair.

“You’re an idiot.”

Louis whirled to the left and, for the first time, realized a fourth person was in the hallway with them. “Excuse me?”

The guy—Zayn Malik, Anatolyev’s answer to his very own Niall Horan—rolled his eyes. And, like, whoa _hello_ he had a freckle, a fucking _freckle_ , right next to the honey brown of his iris. Louis didn’t realize eyes could have freckles.

Also, he’d been seeing Zayn around the world for years and how did he just now notice how beautiful he was? He had jet black hair with an absurdly bright red (like _actual_ red, not just orange red) streak through his quiff and a cigarette behind his ear. “I was talking to H. He’s an idiot.”

“You’re the idiot, Zayner,” Harry mumbled.

“You’re both idiots,” Niall said.

Zayn and Niall laughed and fist bumped in agreement. Louis got goose bumps watching Zayn smile. He had the cheekbones of a demi-god and that smile could light up the sun, he was sure of it.

“Excuse me,” Louis squawked. “You’re both chastising us for, well, for _that_ , but you just did a fist bump. Little hypocritical, no?” He looked at Harry for help. “Harold, little moral support here?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Pot calling kettle black, I’d say.”

“A fist bump between mutual geniuses on opposite teams trying to kill each other is not the same as an attempted elevator blowjob.” Niall said. “For God’s sake, you were trying to kill each other just last week.”

Louis blushed and looked down at his scuffed shoes. So that _had_ been Harry’s team. He’d taken out six of their men. Awkward.

Harry and Louis followed along behind a chattering Zayn and Niall. Louis didn’t know what to say. Somehow he was sure that, “Hey, sorry I killed some of your friends, it wasn’t personal, it was just business”, however true that might be, wouldn’t cut it here.

Louis could hear the sounds of the party in full swing and took a deep breath, preparing to paste on his best fake smile and face the crowded room.

“Yeah, and we’ve moved past that,” Louis joked, ill-at-ease with the current mood. “Now I’m just trying to suck his brain out through his dick, a process you so rudely interrupted, by the way.”

Zayn doubled over laughing and Niall had to help him stay steady, though he was laughing just as hard. Niall’s Irish brogue was thick in his laughter as he cackled and stumbled down the hall with Zayn.

The guy was just _hot_ , okay?

How was it even fair that his mortal enemy, who would be trying to kill him any other day of the week, was so, so beautiful? Like, the kind of beautiful where Louis would absolutely get off with him in the bathroom of a club and then cook him omelets the next morning.

“So,” Harry said lowly, swaying into Louis. “Am I gonna have to protect Zayn’s virtue from you or something?”

Louis snapped out of it. “His virtue?”

“Yeah, you’re looking at him like you want to devour him. It’s-it’s weird, dude.”

Louis’s eyebrow twitched. “Are you jealous, Harold?”

“Not my name. And no, I’m not.”

Louis smirked. He was totally jealous. Their hands brushed and bumped as they walked, following the still-laughing duo in front of them. Louis felt shivers all the way up his arm. “Don’t worry, curly, I could never last with a guy like that.”

“And why not?” Harry’s tone turned fiercely protective. It was so endearing.

“Not curly enough for me, to be honest.”

The full-force of Harry’s dimpled grin made Louis’ breath catch a little. _Wow_. _Again_. The way Harry’s face blossomed when he grinned, like sunflowers reacting to the sun, made Louis completely forget about Zayn’s perfect face.

 _Who cared about cheekbones and eye-freckles when there were_ dimples _?_

“So Zayn’s on our team, then?”

Harry smirked. “Well, he’s certainly on _my_ team, Ireland.”

“That’s good to know because I’m actually British.”

Harry barked a laugh and clapped his hands over his mouth. “I have never made that noise before.”

“I get the feeling you say that a lot in other situations too,” Louis said, walking a little ahead of him.

Harry’s tall, broad body crowded up against his back, almost making him trip, if it wasn’t for the tips of his fingers brushing against Louis’ biceps, holding him there. Louis had a flash of Harry pinning him down in bed and nearly whined. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Louis blinked, mouth dry again. God, he’d never been so gut-level attracted to someone before. Harry released him and joined his side with his easy, lumbering walk. He had a small smile quirking at the corner of his mouth, like he was so damn pleased with himself. Louis gritted his teeth and tried to focus.

“This is so stupid,” he said, for what must have been the fiftieth time that night, but it would never be any less stupid so he felt a little justified in reminding everyone about it.

Harry reached out and grabbed his arm before they walked in the room. “Hey, Louis? So, maybe one time when we’re not, you know, trying to kill each other, we could do that again sometime? Or at least finish what we started?” He stuck his hands in his pocket and shrugged, looking a little lost. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but I don’t really have options around here.”

Louis was so endeared he couldn’t speak for a moment, but then barreled on ahead with, “Oh, so that’s what I am, then? Just a pretty pair of lips and a fantastic arse?”

Harry blushed. “You do have nice lips. And the best ass in the seven continents, I’m certain of it.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Yes, Harold, next time I see you and we’re not assigned to, you know, trying to blow each other’s brains out, we can continue this.”

“Cool, cool. Catch you on the flip side?”

“God, you are _so_ American. Who even says that anymore? I’m pretty sure no one in the world, that’s who. The nineties called, they want their phrase back.”

“Well, you just tell them they can’t have it then, because it got the pretty British boy to laugh, and who am I to fuck with Fate?”

Louis smirked. “Fate, huh?”

“Yup.” He turned away as Anatolyev called his attention.

Could they even be seen together at this mixer even though he was pretty sure he’d been assigned to kill Harry last week? This was so stupid. Who put a room full of trained, enemy, spy assassins together and just hoped they didn’t kill each other before the vodka ran out?

“See ya, Harold.”

“See ya, Lewis.”


	2. Here, beneath my lungs, I feel your thumbs press into my skin again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. It's like 2AM. Also this chapter is WAY longer than the first one.  
> Also, Perrie's in this chapter for like five seconds, just in case anyone gets hives at the mention of her name or something.

The first time Harry was damn sure he had an irreversible crush on Louis was three weeks after the first time they’d properly met. It wasn’t even something more mild and manageable like he wanted to just fuck his brains out and leave it at that. No, that would’ve been uncomplicated and easy. No, he wanted to get to _know_ Louis, wanted to break all the rules even talking to him broke, wanted to openly defy Russia for love, or at least the potential for love.

He knew it was quick, knew he had little more to base it on other than one really hot almost-blowjob and all the info he made Zayn gather for him on Louis. Which he knew was seriously creepy, Zayn had told him this a thousand times, but it wasn’t like they had a set schedule of what their next assignments would be, or even if they’d align, and needed to know more about Louis for his own damn sanity.

Basically, he couldn’t keep wanking to the same memory over and over every night, okay? He just couldn’t.

Harry climbed out of a kayak on Croatia’s Dalmatian coast, trying to keep a careful eye out for his kayaking group, when a hand extended to help pull him onto the dock. The feet in front of him were pale, with tattoos littered over his ankles and ankle bones. He took the hand gratefully and felt his abs contract as he hauled himself out of the water with the strength of one arm and the person helping him.

Harry shook out his monstrous head of hair, fixed his bangs so they were off his forehead in an artful swoop, and looked up. Oh. Shock made him step back a bit.

Too late he realized his left foot was off the edge of the dock. He flailed backwards with a yelp, his stomach nose-diving, and inhaled in preparation of hitting the cool, crystal clear water three feet below.

The shock never came.

Instead, Louis leapt to catch his hands and yanked him forward. He stumbled into Louis’ chest with a wet smack of neoprene wetsuit and bare chest. Louis held on tight and Harry took a moment to close his eyes and get his breath and bearings back.

Louis rubbed a wet hand over his back, up and down, over his shoulder blades, the dip of his spine. Harry let the contact wash over him with an exhale. It felt good, natural.

He hardly knew Louis in the real sense, but he knew he had a cat named Smokestack, six little sisters and one brother, knew his parents divorced when he was young, knew he was bullied in middle school, and was the captain of his soccer team, and once even debated going collegiate or trying for pro, but then Anatolyev—damn him to the deepest pits of hell—got him in his sights and Ireland happened.

“You okay now?” Louis’ voice was hot and soft, murmured against the shell of his ear. He shivered with goose bumps and nodded his head, already leaning away from the warm touch he knew was about to leave his chilled skin.

“Thanks, man.” Harry brushed a circle on his wrist with his opposite hand. He felt nervous and exposed with Louis in a wetsuit next to him. “What are you doing here?”

“Vacation, same as you.”

“But I’m not on— _oh_. Oh. So are we working together this time, then?”

“Afraid so, curly.”

Harry grinned, he couldn’t help it. Louis grinned back, all white teeth and bright sunshine radiating off his skin. Warmth bloomed in his chest. Louis was hot, and nice, and saved him from falling in the ocean, and hadn’t killed him yet, what wasn’t there to immediately be attracted to?

“Listen, they, uh, sent me here by myself. I guess sort of as, like, a test assignment to see if I could hack it. And I was just gonna walk around the city and see if I can find our target. Do you wanna, maybe, come have dinner with me tonight?”

“Won’t we get caught? I’m sure there’s someone watching us right now, if I’m honest.”

“Yeah. That guy over by the palm tree—” he tracked Louis’ gaze to the man “—is one of my guys, but we’re on the same team for right now, so it should be okay. If not, I guess dinner with a hot guy is a good reason to die, right?”

Louis cracked a grin. “Are you being conceited or flattering?”

Harry just smirked and shook his head. Truthfully, he didn’t really know. He already _knew_ Louis found him hot enough to get on his knees in an elevator shaft, so however Louis wanted to interpret that comment was fine with him. Plus, he was pretty sure they weren’t going to die for this. Hopefully. Because contrary to his words, that would be a really shitty reason to die, but maybe he’d get some good food out of the deal. And also hopefully sex.

Harry followed Louis up the beach, sand clinging to his wet legs and bright, yellow swim trunks. And, okay, yeah, Louis had an even better ass when it was outlined in tight, wet neoprene.

“Where are you staying?”

“The sandstone building. You?”

Louis grinned. “The same, actually. What luck.”

“Yeah, what luck.” Harry couldn’t contain his smile.

When they got back to the hotel, Louis spoke up in the elevator, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he had all this restless energy he couldn’t wait to spend. “Listen, why don’t we take a shower, get dressed, and meet in the lobby at seven?”

“Sounds good to me, Lou.”

Louis’ mouth quirked. “All right. See ya, Haz.” He brushed his knuckles across Harry’s shoulder blades.

Harry was halfway down the hallway when he realized Louis had called him by a nickname. He flushed all the way to his neck. He felt Louis’ phantom hand on his back all the way to the hotel room.

 

After a few hours of a nap, Harry’s “shit, shower, shave” routine went quickly. He’d just buttoned up his dress shirt when he got a call on the hotel’s phone. Kicking his suitcase out of the way, he vaulted onto the bed and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Mister Harry? This is the front desk calling.”

“Yes, hi.”

“Your date is here to pick you up, I just thought I’d let you know.”

Harry blushed all the way down to his toes and thanked God Louis or Niall weren’t here to see him and laugh. It had been way, way too long since he’d gotten the chance to call any male his date. Thanks, Russia. “Okay, thank you, tell him I’ll be right down.”

He slipped on nice shoes, tied the laces so he wouldn’t trip over them, spritzed on some cologne he hoped Louis would like, and fixed his bangs in a swoop across his forehead. He smiled at his reflection once before walking out the door, keycard like a feather in his pocket. He wondered if he’d even need it. He kinda hoped not.

His bounced a little on his heels in the elevator. He didn’t know how Louis would be dressed. What if he was overdressed? A button-down shirt and jeans wasn’t too obvious was it? He could still pass this off as nothing if Louis wanted to, right?

He gulped as the elevator pinged open. The lobby was empty. He walked out a few feet and stopped, confused. _Where was Louis?_

“Um, excuse me?” The concierge with bright pink and blue hair, Perrie, her name tag said, looked at him expectantly. “You called to say my date was here?”

“It’s a bit shit you don’t recognize me, mate.”

Harry whirled around at Louis’ voice and his breath caught in his throat. Louis looked . . . wow. His caramel brown hair was artfully styled in feathered flyaways, he’d left his three-days-beard dusted all over his jaw, and he wore the tightest skinny jeans Harry had ever seen. God, his thighs and ass were to die for. Possibly literally, if Anatolyev found them when they weren’t working together.

Harry swallowed carefully, trying to think of something to say that wasn’t, “please skip dinner and fuck me into the mattress for hours instead”. He blinked and tore himself away from Louis’ dark green Sweet Disposition t-shirt to his startlingly blue eyes.

He moved forward and his foot caught on the edge of the throw rug. He went sprawling into Louis’ arms with a yelp and a squeak, his heart racing in his ears. Louis caught him a rumbling laugh and steadied him. “Easy there, Bambi legs.”

“Oops,” Harry mumbled. He was red from head to toe. _Why do I always have to trip and embarrass himself in front of Louis? Why? It isn’t even funny._

“Hi.”

Harry forced himself to pull away. “Where do you want to eat?”

“McDonalds?”

Harry snorted in shock and walked out the front door laughing. “You better be joking, Tomlinson, or I’m going back to my room right now.” _Yeah right, you’re already out the door._

“I was kidding, Harry,” Louis whined, running after him. “There’s a restaurant down the street. They’re supposed to have really good food. At least that’s what the concierge said. You know, the one with the pink and blue hombre thing.”

“Ombré.”

“God, you are so comically g—”

“Don’t say it!”

“What?”

“That I’m . . .” He motioned between them in a manner that hopefully indicated ‘gay’, then pointed out several of the unidentified men who’d been following them since they left the hotel. _Yours_? Harry mouthed. Louis shook his head. Harry’s stomach knotted.

“I was gonna call you a genius, by the way,” Louis said, once they’d started walking again.

Harry tried to work that sentence out in his head, but couldn’t see how comically genius would make sense so he figured Louis was lying, but that didn’t really bother him. He could be very, very “comically gay” when he was allowed to be. Well, when he _had_ been allowed, back in America in college.

They walked to the restaurant in uneasy silence. Things were comfortable between them for sure, but out here in the open, at night, they were tense and on alert in case those men were protecting their lurking target.

“Where do you want to sit?”

“Next to you.”

Harry’s face split into a grin so fast he couldn’t control it. “No, silly, I meant where in the restaurant. Table, booth, corner, out in the open?”

“Booth, corner, duh. Have you forgotten all of your training, Mr. Styles?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. He was stunned. To be honest, he _had_ forgotten. This wasn’t _just_ a date between two attractive, interested men, this was an intelligence gathering session that happened to have soft lighting and candles and wine. Harry shook his head.

“You’re right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be, H,” Louis murmured. “It’s easy to forget myself around you, too, if I’m honest.”

Harry couldn’t figure out what to say back to that. It was flattering and nice to know Louis got little shivers every time their eyes met too. In lieu of an answer, Harry picked up the nearest menu and folded it open to hide his face and the fact that he couldn’t stop his blush or grin. It had been years since he’d been out on a date with another man. Working for Anatolyev didn’t allow for it, and Russia didn’t stand for it.

If it had to be under the pretense of sharing info and scoping out a target, he was definitely okay with that. Men as bafflingly pretty and electric as Louis Tomlinson didn’t come along very often, or ever, as was his twenty-one years of experience. All in all, he was very, very happy they had run into each other in this beautiful country and gotten to be partners.

It filled his stomach with barbs to think that maybe one day they wouldn’t be so lucky and they’d be staring down the barrel of each other’s guns. He shivered. No. Tonight was going to be fun. He was not going to think about something that might never happen. Besides, right now they hardly even qualified as friends. They were two men ridiculously attracted to each other enough to risk being seen in public by men who would kill them without blinking. Literally.

_That had to count for something, right?_

Louis nudged his foot and Harry snapped out of his thoughts. “Penny for all the thoughts in your pretty, little head?”

Harry snorted. “Nothing. Just . . . Just thinking about, um, us.”

“Us?”

“Just, like, our . . . predicament.”

“Predicament? Where’d you get that dictionary? I’m a little lost, Curly.”

Harry bit his lip. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. It isn’t appropriate anyway.”

Louis leaned forward, his face lighting up. “Ohhh, now I _have_ to know.”

“I just mean, like, if we ever had to . . . I was just trying to decide if I’d be able to do it if we actually became friends, you know?”

“No,” Louis said slowly, his eyebrows furrowing. But he’d leaned back from the table a little, so Harry figured he must understand on some level.

“If we had to kill each other.”

_There it is._

Louis blinked and recoiled, sitting ramrod straight in his chair. He stared at Harry for a long, long time, his cheeks bright red and blue gaze unwavering. Harry stared back. He didn’t know what to do now. He couldn’t look away, but he wanted to desperately.

Regret was a bitter taste on his tongue. He never should’ve opened his big, stupid mouth. Now he’d ruined everything for no reason. They didn’t even have to think about it yet, they were partners for now.

“Well,” Louis said. “We would actually have to become friends for that little worry, now wouldn’t we?”

Harry’s throat went dry and air refused to come out. _What did that mean?_ He didn’t look upset though, mostly just honest. Harry relaxed.

Instead of waiting for a response, Louis called their waiter over. “I’d like, uh, that one.” Louis pointed to a menu item and their waiter wrote it down.

“What’d you get?”

“Something with beef and plums and red wine. Can’t pronounce the name for the life of me. Wouldn’t want to butcher it.”

“And you, sir?”

“The, um, the black risotto? Thanks.” Harry watched their waiter leave and sipped his water. “It’s got cuttlefish in it, apparently.”

“You’re a cuttlefish,” Louis retorted, with a wink.

Harry sputtered on water and set his glass down. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I would assume so, anyway. You look like a cuddler.”

He frowned. “Are you mocking me?”

“Not at all. I, too, appreciate a good cuddle every now and then. Now and then, of course, being all the time. You see,” Louis said dramatically, “being on these solitary assignments I am bereft of a good cuddling partner these days. It gets quite lonely in my hotel room, you know.”

“Ah yes,” Harry mocked, in a truly terrible English accent. “I’m sure your left hand is all chaffed.”

Louis burst out laughing. It was a warm, happy sound that lit up Harry’s insides and made him glad they’d moved on from the morbid topic of their deaths. Several tables of people turned to stare with frowns and whispers. “He said something rude,” Louis choked out, between giggles. “Well, that’s just rude of you, Harry Styles.”

“That’s me, rude boy. And not that Rihanna song either.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, you listen to pop music? You heathen.”

“Excuse you, hipster? What’s wrong with pop music?”

“I am not a hipster. And it’s all artificial voice modulation.”

“ _Artificial voice modulation_ ,” Harry mocked. “Wow. I bet you even have a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses on your nightstand.”

“I do, actually.”

Harry stopped, face smoothing as he imagined Louis all soft and sleepy, hair down and contacts safely stored away in the bathroom. He tried not to think about him all snuggled up in bed too, tangled in the sheets. “I’d like to see that.”

“Are you thinking about me naked, right now, Styles?”

“Absolutely.” Harry gave Louis a cheeky grin and sipped his water. He’d love a glass of Chianti or Yellowtail, but they have to be alert tonight. No distractions. Even though this “fact finding assignment” was masquerading as a date. _Sorry not sorry_.

And then he thought “fuck it” and ordered a small glass of Chianti and Louis ordered a pink Moscato, because of course. He only took a few sips, just enough to whet his whistle and stay alert, in case the old man eating alone in the opposite corner from them was really the guy they were after and someone was playing them.

He wasn’t. He left the restaurant hours before they did.

 

Harry and Louis talked all through dinner, pausing long enough to get refills on wine, and then to just order a full bottle. Against their better judgment they learned everything they could about each other, even though they could be on opposite teams next week and all the little details would make it painful to pull the trigger. But they would do it anyway because that was their job.

Harry learned that Louis had a family, seven little siblings and a mom he loved, but they were gone, and Louis wouldn’t tell him how, or why, or when. Louis got into martial arts and self-defense in middle school and worked at it all through college until an unlucky, or very lucky, Harry supposed, break lead him to working for the Irish mafia with his university roommate Niall Horan.

Harry told Louis about his family: his stepdad that was a stock broker, Ivy League smartass sister, mom who loved him so fiercely it hurt to think what she would do if he never came home, and a cat he missed more than should probably be acceptable.

Green was his favorite color, and he liked to wear scraps of fabric tied in his hair on his days off because people thought it was weird and didn’t approach him, which was exactly what he wanted. The closest thing he had to family here in Russia was his twice-removed cousin, her fiancé, and their three-year-old who called him “Uncle Hazzy” and squealed with delight when he put his hair in little ponytails like her.

He mainlined coffee for fun, never could color in the lines, but could shoot a moving target from a hundred yards away (he wondered if that was some kind of metaphor for his life; he couldn’t figure out what it all meant), and his roommate died of a heroin overdose his sophomore year of college (he did _not_ get all A’s for it).

He lost his virginity to a girl at sixteen, then a boy at eighteen, and confirmed who he was in the universe with a pack of cigarettes and a ruby red vodka chaser at nineteen.

He hadn’t had sex or any meaningful interaction with anyone that wasn’t a member of his team or his best friend Zayn Malik. He couldn’t trust anyone but Zayner, if he was honest with himself. No one could know what he did, but that also made his worry a little greater every time they had a difficult assignment. _Will I make it home to my family? Will anyone ever tell them what happened to me?_

He liked eggs, but hated omelets; liked pancakes, but hated waffles; liked milk in his coffee, but not by itself; hated tea, which Louis scoffed at him for, and drank wine, but only on dates.

“Yes, Louis, this is a date. I’m drinking wine. And—” He looked around to find the restaurant empty except for the few busboys left cleaning around them. “—we’ve cleared the place out, it seems.”

“Maybe our target did us a favor and got hit by a truck or summat,” Louis said, stretching lazily towards the ceiling with a squeal.

Harry watched him, fascinated at the way his face screwed up like a grumpy kitten as he blinked sleepily. “Bed time for Louis?”

“Bed time for me, bed time for me,” Louis agreed, in a sing-song voice, standing up and stretching again, this time with a tiny mewl. Harry’s eyes widened at the sliver of golden tummy for a moment and then it was gone and Louis smirked at him. Harry rolled his eyes and ignored that.

They left too much money on the table, too tired to deal with getting cash back, or a currency exchange, or whatever the hell they should’ve done the second they landed in this beautiful place.

With tired limbs, they spilled out onto the street and wobbled as they made it back to their hotel, clinging to each other like koalas. The whole way back, Harry prayed no one came out of hiding to shoot or kidnap them because he was rather drunk and just wanted to sleep this impending hangover off.

Louis dropped Harry off at his door and Harry got halfway in before he turned around and waited. Louis stared at him.

“What?”

“What?”

“This is a date.”

“So?”

“So, no end of date kiss?”

“Who says it went well enough for a kiss?”

Harry scoffed. “We were there for hours; I’d say it went pretty damn well, wouldn’t you?”

Louis was red-cheeked and Harry didn’t really know if that had anything to do with the half bottle of wine he’d consumed earlier or not.

“Still, I don’t kiss on the first date. It sets a bad president. Pres—presidio—no. Prestic—fuck. Example. Thing. Also, I’m not that easy.”

Harry made what he was certain was actually the most attractive snorting-laughing noise he’d ever made in his life and clutched the doorframe with aching fingers to stay upright. “You were ready to suck my dick _literally_ one minute after we met, but you don’t kiss on the first date? How are you even _real_ , Louis Tomlinson?”

“Maybe I’m not.” He turned around and walked off. “Goodnight, Harold.”

Harry shook his head and shut his hotel door and bolted all the locks. “’Night, Lewis.”

They met up again the next morning. Intel came in from Anatolyev’s outfit that their target was MIA and a boat was headed to take them home tomorrow. They planned to play in the clear surf and warm sand until their handlers called to bring them in.

After all, they were in a paradise on this stretch of manicured beach and it would be a shame to waste a day of frolicking. At least that was what Harry told Louis that morning when he knocked on his door with a case of beer and those impossibly yellow swim trunks on his pale chicken legs. Louis rolled his eyes and slammed the door in his face, but was back in the hallway five minutes later, looking _so_ _good_ in blue and white board shorts and sunglasses.

Harry practically fell all over himself to catch up to Louis, even though he had longer strides from being six inches taller.

They spend hours swimming in the water, chasing fish and each other down the beach, playing a game of pickup football with a nearby group of college kids (Louis won’t stop grumbling that soccer was the real football and Harry won’t stop bugging him that soccer was the better name for it), and napping on the sand under towels to keep from turning into lobsters. The beach was empty and dark before Harry and Louis were ready to leave the warmth of the fire pit they’d made and head back to the hotel.

Harry spent a good hour watching the way the flames flickered on Louis’ body and face. Sometimes he was half in shadow, and half burned in golden light. Harry thought that was a good metaphor for their current state. But he could also just be tipsy and tired.

He’d picked up on some of Louis’ idiosyncrasies, like he flicked his hair when he was pissed or annoyed, he had a limp wrist that Harry could tell he tried really, really hard to keep straight, in every sense of the word, and there were a few scars along his back that Harry wanted to ask about but didn’t know how.

Sometimes he would stare off into the distance with a smile on his face and Harry wanted to ask if he was thinking about his family, but that seemed like a dangerous topic so he never did. When he didn’t want to answer a question Harry peppered him with, he’d distract him by launching into a tickling fit or poking jab until Harry forgot what it was entirely.

“I gotta take a piss before we leave, that okay?”

“Sure, Harry, I can get this pit by myself.” Louis started kicking sand into the flames.

Harry stood there, confused, waiting for him to say he was being sarcastic and Harry was a little shit for not helping. The reply never came so Harry meandered down to the water and waded in. The sand was squishy under his feet and the water was warm where it lapped against his thighs and made him sway with the current.

Harry turned to go, felt something brush his leg, and let out a piercing scream.

 

Louis spun around at the shrill noise, just in time to watch a huge wave knock Harry to his knees and drag him. Louis sprinted across the beach, with Harry calling him hysterically through sobs and gags of seawater filling up his mouth. Louis’ veins were on fire.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

“Help,” he wailed. Louis hauled him up. “Jellyfish. Get it off, get it off!”

“Okay, okay, bud, I will, but I can’t see. I need my phone.” Louis helped Harry hobble to where their towels and phones were. It seemed to take an eternity, even though they were going as fast as they could. He turned on the flashlight app and lit up Harry’s calf. He choked on air.

There was a long, pink tentacle seared into his leg, spiraling all the way down.

“Louis,” Harry whimpered. “Help.”

A lump formed in Louis throat at the helplessness in Harry’s voice. “I gotta get it off.” He reached down for the thickest part of their two towels put together and used the buffer to pull the tentacle away from his skin. Harry made a whining, barely there scream, like a baby Pterodactyl.

Louis’ heart ached. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, babe, sorry.” He tried to think of what he knew they should do next. Unfortunately they hadn’t had the foresight to bring vinegar. “I’ve gotta pee on it.”

“What? No, what if it gets worse?”

“Shhh, love.” He put his hands on Harry’s shoulders to keep him from hyperventilating even more. “I don’t have any other choice, do I? I don’t know what else to do,” he murmured, already working to untie his board short’s drawstring. Harry closed his eyes and panted, deep, wet, rattling breaths, his blunt nails digging into Louis’ arm. He dropped his pants and made short work of angling himself so most of his pee would get on Harry’s leg. He grimaced.

If this was any other situation he’d make a joke about watersports, but he held it in for the whining sob Harry gave next. “There, is that better?” Louis fixed himself back up and watched Harry.

He burst into tears. “No, no, no, that’s worse,” he shrieked, hopping up and down, breathless sobs exploding out of him.

“Oh fuck, fuck, okay, okay.” He used a bucket of seawater they’d collected to rinse off their feet before getting in the car and poured the whole thing over Harry’s rapidly reddening leg. “Let’s get you back to the hotel. They should have medical supplies and be able to call an ambulance if we need one.”

Louis broke every traffic law he didn’t know in getting them back to the hotel. Harry was curled up in the passenger seat, rigid and wracked with hulking sobs. Louis could see the angry, red tentacle marks swirling down his calf and felt bile rise in his throat.

He knew some jellyfish, like the Box jellyfish and Portuguese Man O’ War, could kill you in minutes or fuck up your nervous system forever. _What if that happened to Harry?_ He bore down on the gas pedal and tried to block out the pitiful, heartbreaking whimpers and mewls coming from Harry’s mouth.

He killed the engine as soon as they rolled up the hotel’s front door. Harry already had the door open, trying to scramble out. Louis raced him on the other side and caught him as he was falling out of the car. “Easy, easy, I got you,” Louis murmured, pulling Harry into his arms and cradling him.

He ran inside as fast as he could with this giant in his arms, and winced every time Harry groaned in pain. “We need a medic!” The concierges rushed over, all fluttering hands and wide-eyed panic. “He got stung by a jellyfish. It was a long, pink tentacle. I pulled it off. I tried peeing on it, but that just made it worse, and we didn’t have any vinegar with us.”

One of the men from the bistro came running up and helped him set Harry on the counter. Louis kept a hand on Harry’s chest to force him upright and held his hand. He kept trying to curl in on himself and tears streamed down his face. He’s red and sweating. “Do you feel nauseated?” The man asked. “Dizzy? Like you’re having a panic attack?” Harry shook his head, sniffling.

“Why? What does that mean?”

“Since you don’t know what kind of jelly stung him, we need to know if he’s going into shock or cardiac arrest or anaphylactic shock. If he is, we need an ambulance.”

Louis swayed on his feet and felt the ground rush up to his face, but Perrie steadied him before he could fall. “That sounds really bad.”

Another man came running from the back of the hotel, carrying a huge bottle of vinegar and an even bigger basin. He set it on the counter, poured the entire bottle of vinegar inside, and lifted Harry’s leg into the liquid. Louis imagined three of his fingers broke with how hard Harry squeezed them.

“You okay? Is it getting better?” Harry squeezed Louis’ hand twice. He took that as a yes. “He says it’s helping.” With a shaving kit and a razor, the concierges began to shave Harry’s affected leg.

He jerked away from them, wide-eyed and tense. “W-what are you doing?” His voice cracked and Louis’ heart lurched. He squeezed Harry’s hand.

“To get the nematocysts out,” Perrie explained. “We have to shave your leg.”

“W-why?”

“Because if they’re stuck in there you’ll be in constant pain and could possibly have a heart attack.”

Louis felt Harry’s pulse skyrocket at his wrist and he leaned forward and kissed his briny, beaten knuckles without thinking. Harry’s eyes jumped to his and Louis froze. _Oh. Oops._ His smile was worth the moment of panic though. Louis smiled back.

Harry’s face was blotchy and tear-stained, lips bitten so red Louis wondered if they were actually bleeding. His eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed, and watery, but his eyes had never been so, so green. Louis thought he could fall into them, if he ever had the luxury.

Everyone waited around for thirty more minutes, until most of Harry’s swelling and redness had faded, and they believed he was out of the woods. Louis was tired, his forehead resting on Harry’s thigh, but he knew Harry had to be even more drained. He drifted off a few times, much to his embarrassment, once Harry started carding his fingers through Louis’ hair.

Perrie shook him awake. “Louis? You guys can go to bed now.”

Louis smiled at her and opened his mouth say thanks. _She said my name._ Louis jerked back, instinctively reaching for where his gun would be, if he’d been smart enough to bring it. “How do you know my name? Who told you?” Perrie stumbled back. “How do you know my name? Who do you work for?”

“Th-the h-hotel. I w-work here.”

Louis sprang to his feet, heart pounding, his breath coming out in little, hitching gasps. He was so stupid, so fucking stupid! His head was spinning and he couldn’t think straight and the ground kept rushing up to his face, spinning him around and around like a top on a string. He hadn’t brought a knife, or a gun, or anything to protect himself except for his bare hands! How could he be so stupid?

“Louis! _Louis_.”

“What?” he snapped, glancing at Harry in his panic, then back at Perrie and the other men staring at him like he was a caged and angry bear.

“You signed your name at check-in. We both did.”

His face fell in shock. “What?”

“It’s okay.” Louis made an aborted noise in his throat; his eyes welled up in embarrassment. “ _Hey_. It’s okay.” Harry pulled Louis into his chest by the nape of his neck. They breathed each other in. Louis was shaking and he tried so very hard to stop. “We’re okay.”

“You’re fine, Jack Bauer.”

He felt Harry press a kiss into his hair and Louis squeezes his sides tight. He was too embarrassed to turn around. “He didn’t mean it,” Harry offered. “Things have been tense for us today, what with the jelly and all. I think we just need to go to bed.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“Louis, is there anything you’d like to say to the nice people you terrified?”

Louis snorted. _Thanks, mum. I’m apparently now a five-year-old._ His whole face was red and hot with shame when he turned around. He could barely look Perrie in the eye. “I am sorry. Truly. I-I’ve had quite a day and not very nice dreams, about being a spy, actually, and you startled me. I’m very sorry, Perrie.”

“It’s okay. Just-just please don’t go all Jack Bauer on me again.”

Louis nodded. “I promise. Won’t happen again.”

“Now,” Harry announced, easing off the counter. “I better get this CTU agent off to bed, what do y’all say?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Oh please, like he doesn’t know I’ll be carrying him the whole way there.” The men and Perrie laughed. “Arms around my neck, Haz.” He scooped up Harry and tried not to grunt under the weight. “Jesus, Haz, what did you eat today?”

“My Wheaties.” Harry beamed.

“Goodnight. Thank you for the help. It was very much appreciated by both of us. Again, very sorry, Perrie.”

“Bye, thank you.” Louis just _knew_ Harry was waving at them from behind his back and tried to control his smile. This man was hopelessly endearing in a way no twenty-three-year-old should be, especially because tomorrow they would be leaving and Louis had no idea when, or if, they would ever see each other again.

When they got back to their rooms’ hallway, Louis let Harry drift down to his feet. “Need me to walk you in, or can you walk by yourself?”

Harry took a step and swayed into the wall before Louis could catch him. “Okay, I’m helping you in.” They hobbled to his door and Harry keyed them in. Louis felt a prickle of nervousness go through him, though he couldn’t imagine why. Harry’s room was the same as his, except with his cloths and suitcase strewn about the room. Louis was a neat freak. Clutter like this made his teeth itch.

He blushed when he watched Harry strip down to his pants and ignored the way his chest tightened when Harry slid underneath the covers and blinked at him. He tried to back up but couldn’t move. He wanted to stay so badly. “Alright, night. Ring me if you have any problems, yeah?”

Harry’s voice stopped him. “Lou? I don’t have your number.”

Louis fought a wave of longing and turned back around to face the bed and the man in it. “Gotta use the hotel phone. We can’t swap info, you know that. Too dangerous.”

Harry frowned, but nodded. He looked impossibly young right then, bathed in golden honey light and swallowed up by one-thousand-thread-count white sheets. “I know. Um. I will. B-bye?”

Louis chuckled, a little hysterical. His chest was tight again and he was shaking. Again. Fucking hell he hated goodbyes.

“I’ll see ya when I see ya, curly.”

Louis heard Harry’s voice as the door closed behind him. “Goodbye, Louis.”

 

Their assignments didn’t align again for six months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betas and Brit-pick-ers would still be lovely! You have nooo idea how hard it is to write in past tense after reading nothing but present tense fics for almost two years. It's kiiiiiiiiiiiiller.
> 
> Also, I knooowww Harry's reaction to his jellyfish sting might seem like overkill, but I figured since the kind that stung him can kill you if you're not careful, it might be a little warranted. If not, carry on.


	3. I'm propelled by fear, and not the righteous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to The City Lights by Umbrella on repeat while writing this and that's where the title is from.

Louis’ assignment was in the south of France. It was a little cold for this time of year, enough that he had on a jacket and beanie, but it was expected to heat up as the day went on, thank God, especially if he had to be out in this weather all day waiting for this stupid person to show up. He sat on a park bench and waited for his informant to sit on the opposite side. Niall chattered away excitedly in his ear about the food he’d had earlier in the day.

“Niall, I love you, but what does your tea boxty have to do with my informant? What’s he look like?”

“Oh, you’ll know him when you see him.”

“How?”

“He’s got a beard, but you’ll know him.”

Louis gave a loud sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. _Breathe, Louis, breathe_. “What’s the word again?”

“Bird’s the word.”

Louis fought a stupid smile and the urge to snap at Niall. “No, you Irish idiot, what’s the word?”

“Bird,” Niall insisted. “That’s the word, you British blockhead.”

“Oh. Oops. Sorry, Ni.”

“’s’ alright, Lou.”

Louis scanned the area for anyone who happened to look suspicious, or that he might recognize. There was a teen couple making out on a bench across from him, an old man reading a crinkled newspaper to his left, and a guy in a peacoat and black wayfarers walking his direction. Louis sighed. “Say, Ni? My informant doesn’t look close by, does he?”

Niall was up in the apartment window across from him surveying the area for him. He had to resist the urge to look up in case someone spotted him. Louis knew his frosted tips would be peaking over the window sill if he did look anyway.

Niall was always changing up his hair color: lilac in the summer, brown with frosted blond tips in the winter, blond in the spring. It truly was a sight. Sometimes frightening, like that time he had to go goth for an undercover role and dressed in nothing but black, with a Mohawk, and eyeliner three years ago. Louis still had nightmares.

“Nice birds out today, yeah?”

Louis jumped at the voice next to him and turned to look at his informant. He had curly hair, red lips set in a grin, and Jesus, wow, a pretty good full beard. Louis’ skin tingled, but he didn’t dare let himself hope he recognized that mouth and that deep, slow voice.

It wouldn’t mean anything even if it _was_ Harry. They weren’t friends. Even if he did pee on his leg six months ago and couldn’t stop thinking about it—the whole forming a connection with Harry part, not the peeing on him part. Watersports would never be a kink of his, he was sure of that. Though he was also pretty sure Harry’s mouth could persuade him to do lots of things he wasn’t all that sure he would’ve done before. It was just so _red_. He resisted the urge to ask if he wore lippy.

“Could go for a quail or two, if I’m honest.”

The man, he wouldn’t let himself hope it was Harry, nodded. “There’s, uh, there’s a nest of ‘em near a warehouse a few blocks away. Saw ‘em when I was over there a few days ago.”

Louis nodded. “Got it, Lou,” Niall said in his ear.

“How many? I’m famished.”

“Enough for a whole feast, I reckon. Three brown spotted, two white spotted. Should be able to make quick work of ‘em this afternoon if you head down while they’re parents are sleepin’.” He had an affected Southern accent that wasn’t quite natural and it had Niall, king of affected accents and linguistics, tittering like a loon in his ear. Louis gritted his teeth and clamped down on the urge to tell Niall to shut his stupid mouth before he got distracted.

“See anything?” he asked Niall, under the guise of looking down the street for something to see, a quail maybe. This was the stupidest conversation he’d ever had that had nothing to do with what they were really talking about. Except now he really wanted some quail.

“Quail nest is loaded with eggs,” Niall confirmed. “We should be able to get to them tomorrow. I’ll brief Paul and get back to you.”

Louis heard him click out, then turned to his informant. “Thank you for that tip, now I’m gonna go find me some quail eggs to eat. I’m hungry.”

It wasn’t until he was already walking away that Louis heard the man say “Cheers, mate.” He froze, hair standing up on the back of his neck. That sounded exactly like Harry. It _had_ to be Harry. _But what if he was wrong?_

Louis kept walking. His mind needed to be on the assignment at hand, not the hot Russian-American guy he hadn’t seen in six months.

 

It was just after ten, with Louis lying in bed with his glasses and pajamas on, trying to figure out a crossword puzzle in French, when someone knocked on the door. He frowned and sat up. Niall knew how to come inside without a keycard, and it wasn’t like he had many friends in Paris either, though Stan certainly counted, he had no idea Louis was in the area. There was no one there when he looked through the peephole. Confused, he opened the door and looked around. The back of his neck tingled. This could be a trap, he was well-aware of that. He turned to go inside, when his bare foot nudged something. He jumped back, startled, but saw it was a white to-go container.

There was a note on top of the container that simply read: _2202_. Louis tried to figure out if that was supposed to mean military time or not, but he was stumped. He straightened up with the container in his hand and stretched. It could be a bomb, he reasoned, but it smelled too good. When he peeked inside, there were quail eggs and half a roast quail on a bed of brown rice and gravy. Louis smiled and looked up. A tingle spread through him. The number on the opposite door said 2215. _Oh_.

He went back to his room and inhaled the food. It was good. Nice quality, tender and juicy, more than enough gravy, which was always appreciated. This was definitely something he could get used to eating if he wasn’t leaving in a few days. He brushed his teeth, washed his hands, slipped on a pair of slippers, and put a knife in his pajama top’s breast pocket.

He didn’t bother changing into something nicer. What if it wasn’t who he thought? What if his enemies—his _other_ enemies—had been listening in on him and his informant’s conversation? What if this was a trap to poison him or lure him out into the open?

Louis’ stomach clenched as the lumbered down the hallway, keycard in hand. 2202. _This is stupid; you’re going to get yourself killed for curiosity._ With a deep breath to calm his shaking hands, Louis slid the keycard through the slot and waited. It lit up green. He turned the knob and walked in. The room was dark, but he could hear soft music playing somewhere inside. Saying a silent prayer, Louis let the door click shut behind him and ventured into the hotel room.

There was a bathroom to his left, a kitchen a little farther down to his left, and suddenly the bedroom opened up before him. _You’re going to die like this, you idiot._ He stopped short, surprised. He could hardly make out anything in the darkness of the room. Someone shifted on the bed and Louis tensed, all his senses going on alert with adrenaline. The room was brighter, the sounds louder. He could feel the hair on his arms and the nape of his neck stand up.

The light flicked on.

He blinked three times, stunned, and then focused on the other person in the room, lest he had a gun trained on Louis.

It was Harry, just like he’d hoped.

Harry, with a full beard and no shirt on.

Harry, with long, raised scars cross-crossing down his chest and stomach that hadn’t been there six months ago.

Louis’ breath hitched.

Louis rushed to Harry’s side where he lay on top of the sheets, looking at Louis like he was on display. It unnerved him, but he didn’t know why, maybe the haunted look in Harry’s eyes. “Harry, what happened?”

“Oh these? Just battle scars, darlin’.” But the twisted smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Louis rolled his eyes and dropped to the bed. He hesitated a second before he moved to touch him. He didn’t know what was allowed between two people who hadn’t seen each other in six months and didn’t really know each other all that well. His hands hovered over the deep scars over Harry’s chest, itching to touch, to make them real. Harry’s hands were inches from his. He licked his lips, trying to keep breathing.

“Can I?”

Harry made a low noise in his throat and Louis closed his eyes, momentarily overwhelmed.

The first touch of his fingertips against Harry’s skin gave him chills. He exhaled in a harsh, heady rush. Harry’s green eyes held him steady for a moment, before being drawn back down to his hands. The soft light from the lamp made his hands warm and gold.

His fingertips drifted over the first scar that cut across Harry’s pec muscle to his sternum. Louis’ pinky dragged across his nipple and Harry gasped, his body bucking off the bed, head rolling back. A shot of arousal went straight to his dick. “Sorry,” he murmured. The sound was rough when it dragged out of his throat, but he couldn’t breathe in enough air. His throat felt like it was closing in on him.

He refused to look Harry in the eye. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he did, honestly. He could see Harry’s nipple, pink and hard under the edge of his fingertip and swallowed audibly in the otherwise silent room. Somewhere a clock was ticking. He closed his eyes, feeling his hands start to shake.

His eyes flew open when he felt Harry’s hands brush his, fingers slipping between his own and holding on. His lips parted, as if waiting for something, or for words to come out of his mouth, but he stayed silent, barely breathing. The back of his neck prickled and he could hear them both breathing now, louder than before, more labored, though they’d scarcely moved.

Louis realized, when his elbow shifted and brushed Harry’s thigh, that he was just as hard, just as wound up and coiled tightly, as Harry. Louis squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing in and out. He couldn’t let his attraction to Harry overwhelm him.

It was out of the question for him to let things get physical, especially when they weren’t even on the same team this time, especially when tomorrow’s raid of the quail’s nest required them to shoot at each other, maybe even be killed.

He could feel his hands sliding down Harry’s body, hot and pressing down, like there was actual intent behind his fingertips that his brain wasn’t privy to. Harry whined in his throat, the sound reverberating through his chest and zinging through Louis and straight to his cock, when Louis’ nails clawed at his belly in a desperate attempt to leave his heated skin, even when every part of Louis wanted to cling to him. Louis’ brain screamed ‘leave now!’ but his body wouldn’t cooperate.

He was flushed and hot all over, cock heavy and aching where it lay pinned against his thigh. He couldn’t breathe. There was a pulsing sensation behind his eyes at how firmly he tried _not_ to think about how easy it would be for him to bend his head and press his mouth to Harry’s belly, feel his belly contract underneath the touch, have Harry tangle his long fingers through Louis’ hair, tug him lower. . . .

Louis bolted from the room and didn’t even get his door all the way shut before he was shoving his jeans down his thighs and tugging on his cock with needy, desperate moans. He didn’t care that Niall could probably hear him right now, maybe even see him for all he knew, all he could feel was the tingling underneath his skin, the stars behind his eyes, and the prick of tears when his orgasm hit hard so hard he fell to his knees with weak, panting breaths and trembling legs.

 

A bomb going off in his bedroom made Louis jerk awake and fall off the bed. He scrambled up, desperately trying to get his bearings. His brain was hazy and the room wouldn’t stop spinning, even after he turned on the light. He almost yelped when, instead of a bomb like he’d thought, someone was pounding furiously on his hotel room door.

He rushed to answer it, confused and alarmed, very much prepared to be arrested, or taken prisoner by the quail nest. When he looked out the peephole, an angry, half-naked Harry stared back at him. He threw the door open, baffled, before Harry could raise his fists again.

Before he could say anything, Harry pushed past him and into his room, knocking him into the wall. He let the door fall closed and watched Harry pace around like a caged animal, yanking on his hair until he looked like a deranged llama about to snap.

“Harry, what are you—”

Harry stalked toward him, crowding into his space and looming over him, making Louis shrink back and feel small. Louis could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, could feel the body heat coming off his chest and warming Louis up. “What the hell was that?”

Louis stepped around him with a groan, dragging both hands down his face. He’s exhausted and it’s— _it’s_ _four in the morning oh my god_ —he was going to kill Harry sooner than anyone planned if the six-foot giant didn’t get out of his room and let him go back to sleep.

“It’s four in the morning what the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell was that?” Harry insisted.

“What?”

“What are you talking about? Earlier in my room. What was that? Was that your lame attempt to seduce me?”

“What? Seduce you? No I-I wanted to talk to you, thank you for the food.”

“Jesus, what is your problem? Why do you push me away every time I try to be your friend?”

“Because we can’t be friends, that’s why, dumbass.”

“And why the hell not?”

“Because if I’m your friend it’s only gonna make it that much harder to pull the trigger, and you know that, you fucking know that, so I don’t know why you’re even making it a big deal, or whatthefuckever you’re doing here right now, Harry.”

He turned around, frustrated with himself and the man standing in front of him. “Like, I can’t be worried about you, okay? I can’t be afraid for your life, or your safety, or wonder about you at night, and hope you’re okay, because you know where that leaves me when the mission is over? Do you?”

He spun around again, furious. “Because I do, damn it. It leaves me wondering if I’m ever gonna see you again, and wishing that I could, and never knowing if we’re gonna be on the same side, or I’m finally gonna have to pull the trigger. I mean, for fuck’s sake, Harry, I’m an assassin, we both are! So why can’t you just drop this? We’ll work together, fine, whatever. We can be friendly, or whatever the fuck. But if I have to pull the trigger, I’m gonna fucking do it, and it’d be a lot easier for me if I didn’t want to suck your dick instead.”

He was out of breath and burning hot all over by the time he finished his rant and his throat was a little wrecked from all the yelling. His hands were as cold as ice, preparing for Harry to yell back.

“Fine. Whatever. Have a nice life, hope you don’t die.”

Harry slammed the door and Louis flinched, heart sinking. He’d gotten what he wanted, so why did he feel so bad about it? It wasn’t like everything he said wasn’t the truth. If he had to pull the trigger, if he was ordered to, he would do it. He would, damn it, and no amount of hurt in those green, green eyes would make him feel guilty for that. Absolutely not.

Their assignments didn’t align for a year and Louis did not feel guilty every day. He did not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A comment or a share to friends would be lovely!
> 
> Slow-burn ships are good for your health, it's a proven, scientific fact.
> 
> UPDATE: THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE UPLOADED ON FEBRUARY 27, 2015! IT WILL BE 30K OR MORE. :) I HAVEN'T ABANDONED THIS STORY.


	4. White Gold, Black Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii, I'm so, so sorry this update took a solid year (to the DAY!) to put up. I was TRYING to have this entire "chapter" of Louis' life in one chapter, but that's not going to happen since it's now 45 minutes until midnight and I PROMISED I'd have this out tonight. It's a 40k monster right now. The next several chapters will come over over the next few days. If ANYONE is still reading this/waiting for the updates I bless you people.
> 
> (if anyone wants to Brit-pick or beta this, hit me up! I'm from Texas and know absolutely nothing about England - as I'm sure you can tell by reading this - I don't even know if hotdog vendors are a thing outside NYC but let's pretend they are for my sake.)
> 
> Twitter: LZCatalina, LarryS_IS_Real  
> Tumblr: harryandlouisarehappilystrong.tumblr.com

Louis and Niall’s eyes were glued to a sexy brunette on the dance floor. She had a tiny dress that barely covered her ass and looked like liquid it clung to her body so well. And maybe, if he wasn’t gay, he might actually appreciate the fact that the criss cross straps of her dress that wound around her neck showed off her breasts. They were big, at least. That was good, right? He sighed. This was so lost on him. And yet . . .

Every time she laughed or smiled her red lipstick offset the fluorescent sort of purple color of her really white teeth and her whole face lit up. She was ridiculously gorgeous and a little hypnotic. She also looked really familiar, like maybe he’d seen her here in this club before, but he couldn’t quite place her. He had the feeling he could watch her dancing with her friends all night long and he wasn’t even looking for himself. And she looked a little too familiar.

“Is . . . is that . . . her?”

“Who?”

“You know, _her_. _The_ her. _Our_ her.”

Niall’s eyes snapped back to the girl on the dance floor, squinting, the kind of focus he gave to targets and cracking firewalls. “I-I think so. Were we supposed to know she was here tonight?” Niall and Louis looked at each other, eyes wide, cringing. “Oops.”

“She’s hot, mate.”

Niall nodded furiously. “You’re damn right she is, mate.”

“You should go ask her to dance.”

Niall grinned and jumped up. Louis cackled as he watched his handler try to schmooze her with his “loveable douche bag frat boy” charm. The brunette laughed, shook her head, and walked away. Louis frowned. That definitely didn’t happen often. Niall stood there for a moment, in complete disbelief, before he marched over to the bar. Laughing, Louis joined him.

“So, that didn’t go well. What’d she say?”

“She doesn’t date Ireland. _Ireland_. What the hell does that even mean? We’re in Islington, for fuck’s sake. She was American though, so maybe she’s just, I don’t know, weird. Aren’t Americans supposed to love our accents? She didn’t say anything, so maybe that isn’t actually her?” Niall scoffed. He slammed back a shot of something electric blue. Louis winced. Okay, so _that’s_ how their night was gonna go.

“No idea, that’s shit though. Sorry, Ni.”

After Niall and Louis had done a round of shots, and Niall headed off in search of the loo, Louis decided to try his luck with the brunette. Not for himself, of course, but maybe if she didn’t date Ireland, whatever that meant, she’d date English. Or at least freaking dance with him.

Before he could get to the brunette, a perky blonde in bubblegum pink popped into his path. “You’re really hot, you know that, right?”

“I’m also as gay as the day is long, love, but thanks.” Her smile faded and he laughed at the devastated look on her face. “Wow. Sorry to break your heart.” She melted into the crowd and he laughed again.

He smiled at the brunette as he sidled up to her. She threw her arms around his neck and crashed into him with a minxy smile, their hips swaying to an Avicii song. Well, _that_ was easy. “Listen, my friend over there, the blonde? He just wants to dance.”

“So, let me get this straight, in your land of sexist bullshit that automatically means I need to dance with him? No thanks, Ireland.”

Louis’ mouth dropped open. He didn’t even know how to respond to that so he didn’t. “Listen, you look really familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

The girl threw her head back and laughed. “What kind of cheesy-ass line is that, Louis Tomlinson? I would’ve expected you to do better.”

_She knows my name._

_She’s an assassin._

Louis tried to scramble out of her arms without attracting anyone else’s attention, his heart thundering. If she was sent here to kill him, they needed to minimize the casualties. She tightened her hold on him until it was painful. He gasped out a breath, trying not to cry out at her nails digging into his arms. “Easy now, easy.” Her soothing tone did nothing for him. “I’m American. On loan to Ireland for the summer.”

He stilled. “Oh. What?”

She gave him a sly grin and pressed her sleek body against him. Her sticky lip gloss brushed his ear and he shivered. “Here.” She touched his side, right over his concealed gun. “Here.” She nudged his ankle, right over the knife in his sock. She tapped the spot in his neck that, if she squeezed hard enough, would have him dead in a second. “Here.”

Louis stumbled back, a little light-headed, maybe from the alcohol and the dancing, maybe from the girl herself. He needed a few seconds to restart his heart and then he was back. “So, how long do we have you for, love?”

“Amelia Rose Carlyle, actually.” She grinned up at him, bright and shiny and _wow_ he wanted to see her smile all the time. “Until we catch whatever rat bastard is killing all these people. Well, until I kill him myself.”

“Oh, is that so?”

She nodded.

“Listen, me and my handler were gonna leave and go have dinner, do you wanna come?”

“Why?”

“Because I like you, and because you’re temporarily Ireland, I’d be remiss if I wasn’t a good host.”

She fought a smile and nodded. “Sure.”

He took her hand to lead her off the crowded dance floor. It was light and soft in his, small, and it sent goose bumps up his back to know this girl was so deadly that Ireland wanted her to work with them.

When they pulled through the crowd to go find Niall at the bar, he was watching them with something like murder in his eyes. Not that Louis had ever seen him murder someone. That was up to him and Amelia.

“Hey, Ni.”

“What?”

Yup. That was definitely murder in his eyes. _Stop looking at me and look at Amelia, you dumbass._

“This is Amelia Rose Carlyle.”

Niall tore his eyes away from glaring at Louis and his eyes widened. They knew that name. “Hi.”

“Hi. Niall Horan, right?” She extended her hand for him to shake. He took it easily and, wow, okay, spark alert.

“How do you know my name?”

“Amelia here is on loan to us for the summer,” Louis cut in. The soft, enamored look on Amelia’s face thrilled him. He enjoyed the flabbergasted look on Niall’s face.

“On loan? To Ireland? Like—”

“The girl Paul’s told us about all week.”

“Here, here, here.” She pointed out all of Niall’s weapons and wires. The look on his face was pure awe.

“How did you do that?”

“Because I’m good. Why do you think Ireland wanted me?”

Niall gave her a hazy smile. “I can see that.”

“Anyway,” Louis cut in, before they could start having eye-sex right in front of him. “I invited Amelia to go to dinner with us.”  
“We’re going to dinner?”

Amelia burst out laughing as Louis blushed, leveling a betrayed glare at Niall. “You bastard, why you gotta do me like that? Okay, fine, I guess you’re not up for food.”

Niall grabbed his arm. “Hey, I’m always up for food.”

Louis nodded vigorously. “It’s true. You’ll come to know this about him.”

“Oh, I will, huh?”

Louis grinned. “Yup.”

“So I’m on your team now or something?”

“Well, not _my_ team,” Louis joked. Niall snickered, but Amelia looked confused. “But if you want Niall to fix it that way, yeah.”

Amelia appeared to think about it for a second, with a facial expression that Louis could only describe as ‘cute’, and fixed them both with a wide smile. “I’ll think about it. Let’s go to dinner, boys.”

Niall and Louis followed her out of the club. Niall’s eyes were pretty much glued to her ass, not that Louis blamed him. The dress _really_ barely covered her with all its ruching. _Ruching._ God, he was so gay.

The wet sheen of rain water glittered off the black asphalt of the empty street. Amelia twirled around, the bright street lamp lights spinning in her hair, giggling at Louis’ wide-eyed look. She reminded him of a Taylor Swift song. He hummed a few seconds and then wanted to slap himself. Ew. Gross. No.

“Where are we going? It’s not like I know my way around, boys.”

The smell of grilling hot dogs was thick on the street and they knew the best late-night hot dog stand in Islington. “Hot dogs sound good to you?” Niall asked.

Amelia twirled around again. Louis was beginning to think she liked doing that for no reason. “Yes, please, I haven’t eaten one in weeks.” She held her arms out for each of them to take. “Let’s skip.”

Louis and Niall traded looks again, amused. This girl was really something. They hooked their arms around hers and took off with a ruckus to the hot dog stand down the street. “Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to hot dogs we go.” She skidded to a stop when they didn’t immediately start singing along. “Boys, sing.”

Oh yeah, Louis was gonna like this girl a lot. She made him feel young again. Not that he was old, of course, but she made him feel like he was a freshman in uni again, who’d just moved in with a loud, Irish roommate and didn’t know what it felt like to take a life with his bare hands. But, also, twenty-five was old as fuck. He wanted to be a teen again. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenteen, even, but not twenty-five.

Amelia, Louis, and Niall skipped down the street, laughing and shrieking and singing at the top of their lungs and Louis honestly couldn’t remember feeling so good in years. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He thanked the gods for bringing Niall into his life, and he really hoped Amelia would stay in it for the summer.

They stopped in front of the hot dog stand, breathless and giggling. The owner looked like he didn’t know whether to smile at them or run for his life. Louis didn’t blame him, to be honest, it was getting close to two in the morning.

“We’d like hot dogs, please!” Amelia announced, smiling so hard her rosy cheeks look like they hurt. She looked back at Niall and Louis expectantly.

Louis waved her on. “Ladies first.”

“A foot-long, please. With sauerkraut, onions, and spicy mustard.”

“Foot-long chilidog.”

_God, am I the only normal one around here?_

“Just mustard, ketchup and relish, please.”

After they paid, they walked down the street with their dinner in hand. Niall shook his head at the foot-long in Louis hands. “You’re so boring, Tommo.”

“Tommo?”

“For Tomlinson.”

She burst out laughing. “I read a book once and one of the girl’s was named Eleanor Tomlinson.” She dissolved into peals of laughter. Niall and Louis couldn’t help giggling along, even if they didn’t really find that to be all that funny. Her laugh was a little infectious.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you are definitely the wrong gender.”

Amelia’s mouth turned down briefly at the corners. It wasn’t even pronounced enough that Niall would’ve seen it, Louis didn’t think. He hoped. He only noticed it because he was looking for it, the tell-tale reaction of him coming out to someone new. “That’s a shame for you, I look hot tonight,” she said, with a wink. She sashayed off and he heard Niall give a weak groan beside him.

“I want to marry her, Lou.”

Louis burst out laughing. “I think you’ve got a while to go for that, mate. Six months, at least.”

Niall mocked him until they caught up with Amelia again. “To be honest,” she said. “I don’t even know how I’m going to get my mouth around thi— _don’t_ turn that into blowjob innuendo.”

Niall and Louis burst out laughing.

“Hollow your cheeks, flatten your tongue, that kinda thing.” With an indignant screech in his direction, Amelia hit Louis on the arm, repeatedly, her jangly bracelets jabbing into his skin. “Ow, ow, ow, okay, okay.” Louis danced out of her reach and rubbed his sore arm. “Damn, I got it. No blowjob innuendo for you.”

“Ever,” she warned.

“Ever. Got it.”

 

Amelia crumpled up her hotdog sleeve and tossed it in the rubbish bin. She’d eaten like a pig and smeared mustard all over her face and it was the most refreshing thing he’d ever seen. Too often girls around them ate like birds and Amelia didn’t seem to care. He really, really liked this girl. Niall handed her his last napkin to wipe her face. The sweet smile she gave him was so endearing even Louis got butterflies _for_ Niall.

“So, Niall, you’re from Ireland, right? Where?”

“Little town called Mullingar in the midlands.”

“Hm. Very cool, very cool.”

“You have no idea where that is, do you?”

She giggled. Her eyes shined. They were green, maybe hazel, under the streetlamps. “Not a clue.”

“What about you?” Niall asked. “Where are you from?”

“Hartford, Connecticut. I went to Yale. I was gonna be a doctor, but, you know.” She gave them a wry smile. “Turns out I’m better at taking lives than saving them.”  


“You’re still saving people, you know,” Niall told her. “Everyone we kill is just some shit person who’s hurting innocent people.”

Amelia grinned, pointing her finger at Niall. “I like you. You really know how to cheer a girl up.”

Niall beamed. “She likes me,” he said, in a conspiratorial whisper.

Amelia burst out laughing and Louis felt himself grinning. Damn, she had a great laugh.

“So, Niall and Louis, thank you for a great first night. I’ll see you two bright and early in the morning. Maybe they’ll stick us together for this. ‘night, guys.”

“‘Night.”

“‘night, Amelia.”

Louis and Niall watched her until she disappeared down the hallway. It might’ve been better manners to walk her to her car in case some guy tried to get rough, but she was an assassin for Christ’s sake, Louis figured she was all right. “God, she’s fun,” Louis mused. “She’s fun, isn’t she?”

“I guess.” Niall’s tone, he could only describe, sounded like a petulant three-year-old.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, what?”

“I think she likes you more than me, which really isn’t fair because you’re gay. It’s not like she could ever have you.”

“You never know,” he teased. “I might decide I like her enough after all.”

The horrified look Niall gave him made him burst out laughing. “I’m kidding, oh my god. There is nothing that great about her to turn me straight. Except for maybe her ass. I am an ass man.” The grin he felt creeping on almost split his face.

Niall trailed him along the hallway to his own flat. “You’re a menace to society and they should lock you up.”

Louis towel-dried and climbed into bed completely naked and sporting a semi before his head even hit the pillow. He refused, actually, legitimately refused to think about long brown hair or a gorgeous smile. He didn’t think he’d _ever_ wanked off to a girl and he was _not_ about to start now. Gross.

He thought about Harry instead. He hadn’t seen the younger man in almost a month, but God, he kind of missed him. Was that crazy? He hardly knew him. _But then again, you like Amelia and it’s only been one night_ , he reminded himself.

True. She made him feel invigorated. He liked her fire, her wit, and her take-no-bullshit attitude. It was refreshing. _She_ was refreshing. And though he didn’t want to be with her romantically, he really, really hoped she stuck around for the summer because the three of them would have fun together, he could already see it.  


For the first time in weeks—for the first time since his disastrous ending with Harry, if he was honest—Louis fell asleep with a smile on his face.

 

 

Louis walked into the bullpen with two steaming Styrofoam cups of Irish Breakfast tea for him and Niall. He shook off the chills from the air conditioning and looked around. Everyone on Team Ireland was busy at their desks, gathering papers and intel for the next assignment, and chatting. Louis rapped his knuckles on JJ’s desk to interrupt the nauseatingly lovey-dovey smile he and George were giving each other. “How’s the wife, JJ?”

George looked up, the fond smile on his face getting brighter. “She’s doing really good. Three months next week.”

“Girl or boy?”

“Not sure yet, it’s too early, but Nialler is taking an office pool if you wanna get in on the bet.” George nodded at Niall and from his vantage point he watched JJ’s foot press into George’s.

“Hey, tone down the romantics you two. Don’t want Paul to see you, yeah?”

They at least had the good graces to blush. He stifled the urge to ruffle JJ’s hair or something. The kind of fondness they exhibited was kind of addicting if he wasn’t careful. “Tell your girl I said congrats and she needs to drop by sometime, let me get a look at her and the peanut.”

George and JJ both lit up. “Got it, mate.”

With one last smile at the men who’d been on the team for seven years, he headed for Niall’s desk, but the blonde wasn’t in it anymore. Confused, he looked around the room. Where would he even – oh. Louis waved at Amelia as he made his way over and handed Niall his tea. “Hi, Amelia, right?”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Don’t try to pretend like you don’t remember my name, Louis, it’s only been twelve hours. Besides, Niall here already has us hooked up for an undercover mission in Paris.”

Louis ignored her dig and perked up. “Oh, excellent.” He glanced at the papers on the desk. “What are we undercover as?”

“Black market arms-dealer newlyweds.”

Louis choked on his tea and coughed as it burned down his throat and up his nose. Amelia patted him on the back with a smirk. “Excuse me?” He glanced at Niall. “What?” Niall betrayed a flicker of emotion, before he smoothed it out into a carefree smile.

“Sorry Tommo, but this bitch we’re after is looking for newlyweds, so it had to be done. The couple he was looking for are, uh, no longer with us.”

“Killed in action, then?” Louis asked, trying to breathe around the sudden tightness in his chest. “Anyone we know?”

“Nah.” Niall did the sign of the cross anyway.

Louis stared at the table. He didn’t have a problem with this per se. He’d majored in drama in university so he was well-versed in acting like he was in love when he wasn’t, but he’d only met Amelia the night before, and Niall wasn’t comfortable with it, he could feel that rolling off the Irish lad in waves. But what else could they do if it’s what was expected of them? Let the killer go because he didn’t want to break the bro code with his handler? That was silly.

“Fine by me. When do we leave?”

Niall kicked him under the table. Louis winced.

“Two weeks,” Amelia chirped, completely oblivious.

_Okay, so this wasn’t going to be all fun and games._

 

Amelia walked over to Louis’ desk after lunch and he couldn’t help noticing her dramatic outfit change. Instead of the scraps of fabric from last night, she had on a blue A-line dress with a black sash and close-toed flats. He quirked his eyebrow at her. “You look different. Nice A-line. Do I know you?”

Amelia rolled her eyes and slapped some papers down on his desk. “God, you are so gay.”

“Rude. Stereotypes are mean.”

“Hey Ni, what kind of dress is this?”

“Um, a white and gold one?”

“No!” Josh Devine let out a blood-curdling scream, from the other side of the bullpen. “That was two fucking years ago, let it die, Horan, or I swear to God I will _shove_ my foot _so far_ up your ass you’ll taste my toenails for a week!”

Niall turned red and ran down the hall, disappearing around the corner. They could hear him cackling as the door slammed shut. Amelia and Louis laughed so hard it physically hurt to breathe. Louis was aware he was squealing, but he couldn’t help it.

When they finally got themselves under control, Amelia tapped the papers, drawing his attention to them. “Pick. Which airline, which hotel?”

Louis’ eyes flitted over the gorgeous pictures of lavish hotels, streamlined personal jets, and cars so expensive it made him want to cry. “Neither. Eurostar.”  


“What’s that?”

“The train.”

Amelia stared at him. “I’m sorry, di-did you fail geography or something? We can’t drive to France.”

“Why not?”

“Um, probably that little thing called the freaking English Channel in the way?”

Louis smirked. “There’s an underground train station.”

Amelia blinked. “Shut up, no there’s not.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t. Like, there can’t be.”

“Hey, people of Earth?” Louis asked the entire bullpen. “Does the Chunnel exist?”

The entire bullpen said yes.

Amelia’s mouth dropped open and she immediately began typing it into her phone for proof. She frowned when, Louis presumed, she got the confirmation there was indeed an underground tunnel. “What the hell? How have I never heard of this? How have I never, ever in my entire life heard of this? It’s existed since nineteen eighty-eight, Lou, how did I not know?”

“Well, you are American, you probably saw black and blue.”

Josh wailed again and they dissolved into giggles, Amelia holding onto his desk to keep from falling over from laughing so hard. She smacked him on the head with the folder. “I have to go, like, lie down now and have an existential crisis about there being a tunnel under the ocean. Goodbye.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Amelia grinned, her green eyes shining. “Thanks, friend, you too. All right, I gotta go help Niall start forging our IDs. See ya, Lou.”

Louis watched her sashay away, heart in his throat. He’d half expected her to say “Lewis” but . . . but that was Harry. The coincidence gave him chills. He recovered after a moment and called after her, “Pick the honeymoon suite at the nicest hotel.” He really needed to get a look at his new wife’s file before they left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if anyone wants to Brit-pick or beta this, hit me up! I'm from Texas and know absolutely nothing about England - as I'm sure you can tell by reading this.)
> 
> Twitter: LZCatalina, LarryS_IS_Real  
> Tumblr: harryandlouisarehappilystrong.tumblr.com


	5. One weekend in Paris I'll never tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia and Louis are sent to Paris for a weekend recon of a black market arms-dealing warehouse. Louis learns why Amelia is Ireland's "wildcard". There's wine and too much laughing. Niall drops in through their window and things do not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that's not the lyrics, but it worked for this chapter so just pretend.  
> There's a lot of torture in this chapter. Sorry.

Louis yawned, stretched, and rubbed his tired eyes, blinking as he leaned back into the low, golden light of the desk lamp over his blueprint papers.

His entire body was sore from training in the gym with Amelia two hours every day for the last two weeks, and he had a headache from one of her best roundhouse kicks that had knocked him flat on his face. Also, trying to memorize the route to the arms-dealer’s warehouse was making his brain hurt.

At this point in his life he was familiar enough with Paris to get around, but finding a covert building in a city with millions wouldn’t be easy, especially when he needed to keep their escape routes handy.

“You’re staying late again? Do you even know how to leave the office before midnight?”

He jumped at the tap on his desk and met Amelia’s eyes. “Hey, what are you still doing here?” He looked around the empty and darkened bullpen. “I thought everyone else went home?”

Amelia perched on the edge of his desk with a warm smile, flickers of yellow light turning the shadows of her eyelashes into dark smudges. “They did, but didn’t anyone ever teach you to come early, stay late?”

“Really? I’ve always been told not to come too soon.” Amelia flicked a pen at his forehead. It hit him square in the face and landed back on the desk with a clack. They both laughed as he tried to wipe the ink dot away. “Anyway, where have you been? I’ve definitely been alone up here for a while. Unless, of course, you actually heard me singing Grease songs at the top of my lungs for the last hour.”

Louis watched her trace a route in the Paris streets with a mint green fingernail. “Working out.”

“God,” Louis groaned. “Again? Was the beating I took before lunch not enough for you?”

Amelia smirked. “Hey, you don’t have to get snotty because I’m better than you.”

“Trust me, love, I am a-okay that you’re better than me. Means I don’t have to be point. I can let you take the hits once in a while.”

Amelia stuck her tongue out and Louis rolled his eyes. Of course she would, she always did. Like a damn first year, I swear to God. “So what did you do tonight? In the gym, I mean.”

“Parkour and eleven miles on the treadmill.”

He blew out a breath. “Shit. Won’t you be sore tomorrow?”

She shrugged. “I’m used to it. We have a rigid fitness regime on America’s side of things.” She snorted. “Well, at least the assassins, con artists, and people who ‘don’t exist’ do. After all, it wouldn’t do America any good if we were too out of shape to catch and kill the bad guys, right?”

He nodded. “True. Though don’t tell Niall you eat rabbit food.”

“I didn’t say I was a veggie, Lewis, I ate a hotdog in front of you the night we met, remember? I only try to watch what I eat and stay in shape so Ireland doesn’t have a reason to kill me off for not being up to their standards.”

“Duly noted.”

“Hey, do you wanna get drinks with me tonight? I’m all restless, and I know I just ran eleven miles, but I always get like this before an assignment, and I really don’t want to go back to my hotel room yet.”

“You’re in a hotel? Which one?”

“The Wellington Room at the Islington Hotel.”

“Yikes. Don’t you want to move into a flat?”

“Well, I’m only going to be here until the end of the summer. Plus, I get room service.”

Louis laughed, shrugging on his coat and standing up. “Oh, room service, I see now. Who wouldn’t want fully-prepared gourmet meals delivered to their bedroom? That’s what I have Niall for.”

“Niall cooks?”

“He’s a hell of a cook, actually. You should come over sometime, witness the magic in person.”

He put his hand on Amelia’s back to guide her towards the elevator. She smiled up at him. “I’d like that. Other than you two not very many people are friendly here.”

Louis punched the down button and shook his head. “I take it you haven’t met JJ and George yet?”

Amelia was silent for a moment, then she burst out laughing. “If by met you mean, did I walk in on them making out like desperate, horny teenagers in the janitor’s closet this morning? Then yes, I have met them.”

He cackled as they got into the elevator and hit the button for the parking garage. “That sounds like them. Always finding hidden places to make out in like they haven’t gotten enough of each other in the seven years they’ve been together.”

Amelia’s eyes widened as they descended the floors and Louis forced himself not think about Harry. “Seven years? Wow. They’ve been together seven years? I would’ve thought a few days with the way they were going at it.”

Louis snickered. “Yeah, they’re a little nauseating.”

Amelia spun on her heels, twirling her car keys on her finger. “So, drinks?”

“Nah, love, gotta get to sleep early tonight if I want to be in any kind of shape tomorrow, but I’ll drive you home if you’d like, I know the hotel you’re talking about. Ireland would never set up a new team member with anything less than the best.”

Amelia sighed and Louis rolled his eyes at her pouting. “You’re boring.”

As the elevator dinged and they stepped out into the dim light of the parking garage together, Louis couldn’t stop himself from hovering close and keeping his hand on her back, casing every nook and cranny as they speed-walked to his car. She might’ve been an assassin, but she was still a woman, and he still wanted to protect her. The buzzing in his veins returned and he didn’t take his eyes off Amelia as he unlocked the door, checking his backseat before they both got in.  
When the doors were locked and Louis had started the car, Amelia shifted in her seat to face him, legs folded underneath her. “I can take care of myself, you know, I am just as deadly as you are.”

Louis huffed a laugh and fed his ticket into the validation booth and let the car roll down the hill. “I know. It’s not like any old bastard off the street will know though. Can’t stop me from wanting to protect you anyway.”

Amelia grinned, smug, her teeth flashing under the passing streetlamps. “I know. Believe me, I know. But that’s part of the fun, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Louis glanced at her. “You tell me you like to put yourself in dangerous situations so you can mess them up if they come after you?”  
Amelia looked out the window. He could see the reflection of her frown in the glass. “I’m sorry, are you not an assassin? Don’t tell me your job isn’t the same thing.”

She has a point. Louis sniffed. Didn’t mean she was right about it.

Niall showed up on Louis’ doorstep with a six-pack of beer in one hand and a bucket of Nandos in the other. He barged into Louis’ living room. “Well, by all means, please come in, Nialler.” He kicked the door shut with his foot as Niall slammed down the beer.

“Just so we’re clear, I hate – I hate that you’re going on this assignment with her. It’s not fair. You’re gay, you can’t even have her, and we’re actually friends now. What if she, like, falls in love with you?”

Louis rolled his eyes. This was where the line between Niall’s douche bag frat boy charm went from loveable to annoying. “Niall, she isn’t a prize. She’s not an object. Neither of us can have her. Scale back the dramatics a mo? We’re with each other twelve hours a day for work. She’s seen me shower, for God’s sake. She’s kicked my ass at the firing range and in the ring. She’s not going to be in love with me, shut up.”

Niall growled at Louis and glared over the top of his beer as he guzzled it. He burped, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and flopped down on the couch with the Nandos. “Shut up. Why am I so attracted to her? Why does she make me a caveman? Why do I even care?”

Louis finished his own beer and shrugged. “No idea, mate. I guess you can’t help who you’re attracted to, even if they’re the wrong team.”

Niall groaned. “Oh God, please don’t talk to me about Harry. I’m here to be completely selfish and talk about what a wanker I am over a girl I didn’t know existed two weeks ago. Stop it.”

“Aw, you’re such a good friend, Nialler.”

They were quiet while they dug into their chicken plates, but Louis had nervous energy buzzing through his veins, making him restless with excitement. This trip, he hoped, would be easy on both of them. He needed to see how good Amelia actually was, what he had to work with, before they delved into anything too heavy and a quick recon mission light on activity that had them home in a few days was best.

Things rarely worked out that way though, he knew that all too well, he just had to pray that the universe gave them a clean break for once in his career. Call it karma for taking out the bad guys before too many people got hurt. “Hey, I’m assuming you’ve vetted her, right? Is she good?”

“Fucking incredible, mate,” Niall said, Peri Peri sauce dribbling down his lip. Ew. “I see why Ireland wanted her for this, if I’m honest. I mean, we’re all good at our jobs, but damn, she’s, like, hot damn.”

Louis snorted. “Thanks, man, how enlightening.”

“I’d show you some surveillance vids of her best work, but, well, we’re eating.”

Louis grimaced. “Yeah, no need to puke right now.”

“Yep, save that for the morning.”

“Nah, I’m cuttin’ myself off now, I think. Need to be sharp tomorrow. Told Amelia I couldn’t go out for drinks with her tonight, and then here you are, so thanks for that. Now I feel like I’m lying to my wife.”

“Right, well, I brought you more info to go over for tomorrow. The man you’re looking for is named Gustavo.”

“Fring?”

Niall laughed. “Nope, not a meth kingpin unfortunately.”

“What did he do?”

Niall shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“What?”

“Come on, Lou, you know how classified files are, very classified. Need to know basis. Paul wouldn’t share anything and I couldn’t dig anything up.”

“You couldn’t hack in somewhere and find out?”

Niall frowned, his eyebrows pulling down so low over his eyes it gave Louis a headache just to watch him. Niall pinched his mouth and glared. It wasn’t often that Niall was out-skilled at something, especially something as easy as a recon. Niall’s eyes widened. Louis stared. “No, I couldn’t. Never bring it up again.” Niall shook himself out of whatever funk that had put him in. He tossed the files into Louis’ lap and then handed him the phone. “Anyway, I’m gonna go set up some last minute surveillance stuff, you call Amelia and get everything worked out for tomorrow. Rehearse if you need to, I guess. Remember we need the info from this dick before you kill him, don’t forget.”

Louis laughed, surprised. “I won’t.”

“I know you won’t, but she might.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. “Really? She a wildcard?”

“She’s our wildcard. A little too quick to kill sometimes. Got this crazy, like, thing for playing the drunk damsel in distress and then murdering the nasty fuckers who try to hurt her.”

Louis’ stomach twisted in knots. Oh, so that’s what she’d been talking about earlier? “That’s actually really smart. Fucked up and horrible, and I’m sure any woman in a real situation like that would pray they had the skills she does, but smart. I guess, like, it’s a good thing she takes them out before they can hurt other people?” Louis shrugged. He didn’t know what to think about that since it was part of what they did for a living. He was all for murdering people who would hurt others if they weren’t stopped, so kudos to her, as far as he was concerned.

Niall nodded, but Louis saw the dark gleam in his eyes even though he kept them trained on Louis’ knee. Louis didn’t blame him. It was unnerving to expose your darkest desires in front of people, even your best friend who’d watched you murder people in seconds for less. If he thought about it too much Louis would end up asking to tag along with her and help. It made his fingers itch. It had been too damn long since he’d last killed some vile monster and he really needed it. God, tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

Niall shook himself like a dog out of his thoughts and that pulled Louis out of his. When their eyes met next it was like nothing had even happened. Niall was good at that, though, being the persistent sunshine through the black clouds. Louis watched him stuff his empty containers back into the paper bag and stood up. “All right, well, I’m headed off for the night. Get some rest, Lou, and don’t forget to clean your gun.”

“Is that a euphemism for jerking off, so I know next time?”

Niall rolled his eyes. “No, dumbass, just don’t forget.”

“Have I ever?”

Niall scoffed. “Fine, goodnight.”

Louis reached out to fist bump him, but other than that he didn’t feel like moving much and Niall knew how to make his own way out of this flat blindfolded, they’d all had to learn. “Night, mate.” Louis listened for the click of the front door before he reached for his and Amelia’s file.

He had everything memorized by now: their names, their backstories, the man they were supposed to find, the fact that they needed to get in good with him, with his outfit, learn what they were planning to do with the shipment of arms they’d gotten from the Bolsheviks, and stop them. The fact that they were supposed to just talk to him itched at his skin like the tag on the back of a shirt. He needed a good kill soon.

Now the only thing left for him to do before he slept was clean his gun and “clean his gun.”

 

 

George and Denise Platmore were snuggled up on the train headed to Paris for a weekend honeymoon vacation away from their jobs as an investment banker and primary school teacher. The two love birds had gotten married two weeks ago on the beaches of Cannes, but their only time off was now and they planned to use it to their full advantage. They’d met in university as third-years and it was practically love at first sight. Everyone who met them absolutely fell in love with their wit, charm, and smitten, perfectly recited love story. No one had a bad word to say about them in a hundred miles.

But they had a secret.

They were black market arms-dealers working with a fringe group who planned to blow up a prominent business firm in London next month. Which one, they weren’t sure, but they were here to find out and kill them before they could. “Denise, darling, did I ever tell you about that time Niall and I ran a comedy club karaoke bar thing during uni?”

“What? No?”

“Yeah, we did. It was totally great. We traded off every Tuesday and Thursday for years. He’d always open with his famous, ‘he’s back, he’s the craic,’” Louis lowered his voice, “’he takes it up the back’.”

Amelia turned red from laughing so hard. “No! You’re kidding?”

“Well, it wasn’t that surprising to anyone, if I’m honest. I was flamboyant as all hell as a first year. I’m talking red trousers, turquoise trousers, stripes, the whole lot. I was a sight. You would’ve loved me.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“You sound like a real charmer.”

“Oh, I was, I definitely was, Denise dear.” She stuck her tongue out at him and they settled against their train car seats once again. “So, tell me about yourself, your life.”

“But sweetheart you already know everything about me,” she reminded him gently, flaring her nostrils.

Oh yeah, duh. That was why they should’ve practiced together last night instead of going to sleep before midnight, and since they were underwater, he couldn’t exactly patch in to Niall and ask if they were being watched. They were utterly alone for the next few hours until the train reached the shore. It was unnerving and had Louis tense and casing their surroundings every few minutes, even though he tried desperately to relax. His mobile was going through a patch of bad service so he couldn’t tap into Niall and ask if they were being watched, though he assumed they were. “I want to know everything about you all over again, my love.”

“Well, I’m twenty-four, I’ve been in this business since I was nineteen, and I’m really damn good at what I do.”

 

“How did you get inducted? If-if you don’t mind me asking. I know that can be kind of . . . personal for some people.”

Amelia shifted closer to him now, head on his shoulder, voice low and soft. “They were, uh, they were gonna murder my family. There wasn’t a choice to make.” Louis nodded. He understood that all too well. “They kidnapped me, made me fight, and claw, and kill my way out. I did it for survival. I had no idea it was just a test so they could see if I was up for the job.” Louis cringed in revulsion.

“I was only nineteen, you know? I’d just started my first year at Yale for med school. My roommate was the one who recruited me. Told me one night we were going to meet up with this guy I’d had a crush on since the day we moved in. Then someone kidnapped and Chloroformed us both. When we woke up we were in this, like, sewer system kind of thing? It was a lot like the fucking Saw movies, actually, except we just had to hurt other people not ourselves.”

Louis’ stomach burned at the thought.

“She was alarmingly good at it. She pushed me to stop being a wimp and do what I needed to do to survive and get out of this hell. Little did I know it was only because she wanted me inducted. She’d been watching me for weeks, planned the whole thing. It’s funny, before that I couldn’t even spank my dog for pooping on the carpet, and now look at me. I like flowers, tanning, and anything pink. I was probably as girly, flighty, and naïve as you could get. I have no idea what she was thinking when she picked me.”

Louis hummed in thought. “Maybe she saw what you couldn’t see in yourself, at least back then. She taught you that you could be stronger than you ever thought possible, and that you didn’t need to be the damsel in distress, you could be your own hero.”

Amelia watched him for a second, head tilted. Their lips were inches apart and her green eyes never wavered from his. He looked away first. “No, mostly I just think she’s a bitch.” They laughed. “But she’s my best friend, and really the only one I have left. I never got to go back to my family after that. I’m sure they think I’m dead.” She was quiet, picking at the bubblegum pink on her nails. “I’m good at being deceptive, you know? I wear dresses, and nail polish, and cutesy bows, and like Hello Kitty, and God help the poor fool who separates me from a Starbucks because they will not be long for this world—because no one would ever expect I could murder them with nail scissors and make it look like an accident.”

Louis laughed. “I have an aunt that only moves if there’s a Starbucks within a mile from her home.”

“As much as I hated what we do at first, they made me love it, to feel comfortable in that first and foremost, and I do. I couldn’t imagine being a doctor now. The thrill that comes from all the blood is so much sweeter.” Amelia met his eyes and snorted. “God, how fucked up does that sound?”

Louis shrugged. “Not very, if I’m honest. They taught me to love it too, to be ruthless in that driving passion I have for justice and getting it with any means necessary. I’m really good at the ‘any means’ part.”

Amelia grinned. “Me too. So, what about you? How’d a Brit like you become Ireland’s bitch boy?”

Louis tried not to sink down into his memories, tried not to let the darkness seep into his skin. He clenched his eyes shut and grit his teeth. Amelia’s tiny hand slipped into his, her fingers fitting between his and holding on tight. He let out a breath, feeling the tension flutter in his stomach. “They murdered my entire family. Called it an accident. Made me a slave to them, so I’d have no choice, no one to go back to if I ever wanted out.” Louis opened his eyes and unleashed a flood of tears. He didn’t talk about his family anymore, it hurt too much.

“Niall, he,” Louis chuckled a little hysterically, feeling lightheaded, like he might float away. “God, I love him. He’s my brother, and my family, and my best friend, and my entire world, and I would take a bullet for him in a second, but he recruited me.”

Amelia recoiled, her lip wobbling. “Niall had your entire f-family murdered s-so you would be recruited?”

Louis shook his head immediately, wanting to puke at the mere thought of that. “No, no, he had no idea. He was new too, didn’t know that was how they did things, didn’t know that was what it would cost me. He’s the lucky one, of course, his family is still alive.” He gritted his teeth on the bitterness and bile on his tongue. He didn’t think it mattered how many years would pass between them, he would be resentful and angry about that for the rest of his life, that’s just how it was.

“How? I mean, how is his family still alive and yours aren’t? That doesn’t seem . . . I don’t know, I know fair isn’t the right word, but . . . fair.”

“His family is in the business with us. His brother runs the tech side, like all our weaponry and gadgets we use, and his mom is pretty nifty with the transportation, and his dad is an excellent forger. They taught Niall everything he knows.”

“Wow. Some family to marry into then.”

“Eh, you’ll get used to it.”

“I-I mean, n-not that I want to marry into that family,” Amelia stuttered, “that’s not what I meant, I just—whoever marries into that family will be in for life.”  
Louis decided to afford her the courtesy of tamping down his desire to point out how well-matched they were for each other, even he could see that already and it had only been a few weeks of Amelia being in their lives. He liked the person Niall was around her, soft, light, even more fun than usual. It was a nice change to see him all giggly and crushed out like they were in secondary school all over again. “Well, forever is kind of the point, innit?”

Amelia took a deep breath and swept her hair back behind her ears. “God, can you imagine how different our lives would be right now if we’d never heard of any of these people?”

Louis scoffed. “Tell me about it. If Niall had just let me be the weird Yorkshire lad who majored in drama, and drank pints on Wednesdays, and ran a comedy club . . . my life would be completely different. Happier. Our people say I’m a spinster, that I’ll never settle down, that I have commitment issues, but goddamn, do you blame me? Everyone I’ve ever loved ends up dead by virtue of the fact that I’m an assassin and it’s my job to kill people for a living.”

There were tears in Amelia’s eyes as she pushed off her seat and crowded into his, cuddling up to his side. Louis stiffened at the contact. The way he saw it, the emotional vulnerability of the moment could go two ways: he could duck his tail between his legs and run screaming from the room, or face it head on and welcome it. He relaxed when she slipped a leg between his, her arm winding around his side. Louis pressed his face into her hair and breathed in the scent of her strawberry mint shampoo. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“It’s what wives do, honey.”

Louis flinched. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d been so stupid to think Amelia was comforting him because she knew he needed it and she wanted to. She must’ve sensed his discomfort because she tipped her head back to stare at him. “But even if I wasn’t . . . I’d be here anyway.” Louis’ lips quirked up in a tiny smile. She was warm and solid against him, a comforting weight, and a familiarity he would have to grow used to if they were going to keep being partners in crime.

 

 

Louis woke up as the train rattled into the station, jostling them so Amelia nearly fell off the seat, only Louis’ arms around her kept her from ended up on the floor. “Thanks, love,” she croaked, blinking in the soft light of midday. The endearment sounded foreign coming from her mouth, even to him, and she wrinkled her nose, looking like a bunny. Louis pecked her on the nose. She giggled. “What was that kiss for?”

“It’s what husbands do,” Louis said.

Amelia giggled as she sat up and checked her mobile. He felt her entire body go rigid before he saw her and by then she was crawling into his lap, straddling him, but thankfully carefully balanced above him so he didn’t actually have to touch her. He huffed a laugh, sparing a cursory glance around the train at all the people looking at them. “What are you doing?” He saw Amelia’s eyes darting around out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m looking for the camera. Ni texted me and said there’s a guy on Sicko’s team spying on us, so I guess we’re changing tactics. Long-con time.”  
Louis snorted. “Spies spying on spies. Funny.”

“Hey, bitch, watch it. I’m an assassin. I could kill you right here and no one would even know.”

A thrill went down Louis’ spine. “Oh baby, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

His eyes popped up to Amelia’s face when her hand slid to his thigh. His throat went dry. “Um, Denise?”

She leaned into him, giggling, a radiant smile on her face, and, God, did she look beautiful. She nuzzled into his cheek. “He’s watching us,” she whispered.  
His lips skimmed her cheek and he couldn’t help the gasp of surprise as Amelia’s hand slid farther up his thigh. What the hell was she doing? “Where?”

“Red shirt, green cap, big ass camera. He’s taking pictures a mile a minute. Try to look like you’re enjoying this, please.” Her fingers danced over his cock and he almost yelped. A shiver went down his spine and his cheeks flushed. They were in public, for Christ’s sake, and people were staring. And he was gay.

“Denise . . .”

“Kiss me, George.”

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

“Why?”

Amelia’s eyes were huge this close as she leaned in, resting her forehead against his. She brushed their noses together in an Eskimo kiss and this time Louis couldn’t help smiling with her at the sweet innocence of the gesture. “Kiss me,” she breathed, her mouth barely closing down over his. “I love you.”  
The word was so clearly enunciated, obviously for the pap’s benefit, that Louis missed her lips entirely and laughed into the kiss. Amelia pulled back, her face scrunched up. “Did you just kiss my chin?”

“I learned it in drama class. Shut up,” Louis whined.

“You’d suck at having a beard.” Amelia rolled her eyes and pecked him quickly, full on the lips. She winked when she pulled away. “There. Now he has a pic to take back to his boss. Not a very good one, but at least we tried.”

Louis’ giggle choked off when Amelia dragged her fingertips up his cock again. He groaned and pushed his mouth into her neck, sucking at the skin hard enough that he knew blood would bloom to the surface and leave a mark for days. He nipped at the tender skin, making her gasp. Two could play at this game. “Denise, stop it, baby. We’re in public.”

Her cold hands grabbed his face as she kissed him fiercely, staining Louis’ lips bright red with her lipstick. “Then let’s go somewhere more private, yeah?”  
Louis couldn’t help the laugh that burst from him. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go back to our hotel room.” He was shaking when he tried to stand up and he was actually a little hard, which was embarrassing and weird. Never in his life had he gotten hard from a girl.

He and Amelia chased each other out of the building and to their rental car Niall had already set up and waiting for them, stopping to pull each other in for a sloppy kiss that didn’t really involve touching each other’s lips, and as soon as they were in the car and on the highway Louis felt like he could finally breathe again.

Amelia was shaking with laughter in the front seat. “Oh my god, oh my god, that was so hilarious.” She twisted her body around to check the cars behind them. For the next six miles and three exits the same car followed them no matter which lane they switched into. Amelia beamed. “Bingo. We got ‘em.”

Louis burst out laughing. “Oh my god, do you realize we have to, like, fake sex?”

Amelia giggled. “Oh god, like in a bad teen movie?”

Louis knew he hadn’t had anything to drink today, but all the oxygen to his brain was making him a little lightheaded. They practiced loud, exaggerated moans all the way to the hotel, through peals of laughter that had Louis’ stomach hurting and his foot slipping off the gas. This kind of trap invigorated him, left him buzzing full of energy, and itching to kill.

If they were going to be watched, the guy had to know they knew that, right? Did he think they were green or something? So now not only did they have to stop a London terrorist plot, they also had to evade and possibly capture the men spying on them for a completely different long-con assignment in Paris? All this did was make their time in Paris more fun.

Once they were in the hotel, Amelia wouldn’t stop giggling and kissing his neck long enough to let Louis speak to the concierge in peace and he couldn’t help laughing, cheeks bright red with embarrassment, at her played-up enthusiasm. It made him shiver when her teeth grazed his jaw, teeth dragging on the two-day-old stubble on his jaw.

“One bed?”

“Oui.”

The concierge took one look at Amelia’s hands running down Louis’ body, and the way she was curled around his back and whispering “let’s go, let’s go,” in his ear, and smirked.

“Honeymoon suite?”

“Oui, oui, oui, merci beaucoup,” Amelia piped up from Louis’ shoulder, breath tickling his ear, her heels clicking on the marble floor as she bounced up and down in excitement.

Louis grinned. “Only the best for you, my love.”

“Enjoy your stay, Mister and Misses Platmore.”

“Merci.”

“Merci beaucoup.”

After taking their keycard, Louis grabbed Amelia’s hand and they trotted off to the elevators, the picture of youthful newlyweds eager to get to their bed. As someone rounded the corner towards them, most likely the stalkers from earlier, in a stroke of genius, Louis grabbed Amelia by the hips and pushed her back into the wall.

The laughter died in her throat as she threw her arms around his neck. Her mouth was parted, waiting for a kiss, her lips red and wet, and she moaned deep in her throat when Louis, in another stroke of genius thinking thank you very much, grinded forward against her, his cock staying thankfully uninterested. Louis’ heart was beating so fucking hard it hurt. Her hands tightened on his skin, nails digging into the curls at the base of his neck.

Louis’ hands skimmed her thighs and, with his eyes never leaving hers, he tugged her underwear down her silky thighs. They were pink and lacy and dropped to the floor with a flutter as he hitched her legs up around his waist and carried her, both of them panting and bright eyed, into their hotel room, slamming the door.  


They collapsed against the bed with laughs they just barely cut off into moans and Louis buried his face into a pillow, releasing long, hulking howls of laughter that probably sounded like moans of passion to anyone who didn’t know they were both laughing so hard Louis was afraid he might actually piss himself.  


He was lightheaded and weak when he flopped over on his side to look at Amelia. They had both more or less calmed themselves down, but one look at her sent him spiraling again. Amelia jammed her hand over his mouth to shush him, which only made it worse. Louis curled up into a fetal position, holding his stomach and panting against her hand. He might’ve actually been drooling. Yep, from her shriek and frantic wiping her hand against the pillows he definitely, definitely drooled. Oops. That set him off again.

“Kissing you was like what I imagine kissing Niall to be like,” he told her, after they’d finally quieted down. “Slimy, sloppy, and grosssssss.”

“Oh God, I hope kissing Niall isn’t as bad as kissing you or I’m doomed.” Amelia fell off the bed laughing.

 

The man had a dog.

Amelia and Louis traded bewildered looks. This cold-blooded killer, this monster who was willing to slaughter millions of innocent lives had a _dog_? They watched, transfixed and horrified, as the man threw a yellow ball across the small, empty park and the gigantic Foxhound ran to fetch it. The man dropped to his knees, arms open wide, shouting praises at his dog. “Trevor, good boy, Trevor. Bring it here, boy.”   
Trevor bounded back, delighted with himself, tail high and wagging, and crashed into his owner with licks and barks. The man tossed the ball again.

“Okay, screw this, I’m going over there. Watch my six.”

Louis rolled his eyes and refused to acknowledge that. Of course he was going to watch her back, what did she think he was even here for? He was interested to see how she would get close to him. Would she fake an injury? Need to tie her shoe? Ask for directions? Louis settled in to wait, eyes never leaving her back.

In the end it was the dog. Trevor bounded up to her and she laughed out loud as she pried the ball from his jaws and tossed it away. Trevor went racing after it. The man clapped. She curtsied. Louis snorted out of pure revulsion. This was ridiculous. But, he thought, at least she now had an excuse to sit on the bench with him.

Amelia slipped on a pair of black gloves to keep her fingerprints off the scene, and Louis did the same from behind the tree, waiting on her signal to move from his hiding spot and go help her. Not that he thought she would really need it, he wanted to see what she could do, but it never hurt to not be too far away.

He watched her flirt with the man like a pro for a few minutes, her long legs crossed to show off the most skin possible, her voice higher than usual, fingers twirling her hair, and her breasts were practically in the man’s face every time she giggled. He didn’t like it. His stomach knotted as the dog bounded up to her, thrusting the ball into her lap. She giggled and launched it across the park. Damn, she had a good arm. He was tense, coiled, ready to spring into action whenever she sent him the signal. Amelia sneezed.

That was his cue.

Louis stepped out from behind the trees and into the dappled light of the steady sunrise, the edges of the horizon still a smoky grey and pink. He reached Amelia in no time, already holding out a tissue for her nose. She was still sneezing when he walked up and he had to laugh when he noticed she wasn’t actually completely faking it.

“Sorry,” she apologized to the man, patting his knee. “I’m allergic to dogs, but I adore them. I had American Foxhounds growing up.” Louis frowned. She was? Why hadn’t he been informed of that? It could seriously compromise them if— _focus, Louis,_ he reminded himself. _Keep your mind on the task at hand._

This time Trevor brought the ball back, Amelia let it roll off her lap and behind the bench. “Oops.” Louis immediately hopped behind them, kneeling on the ground. He pulled the zip tie out of his pocket and expanded the loop so he could slip it on the man’s wrists.

“Here,” he said. “If you put your hands back, kinda like you’re being handcuffed, you can reach the ball. Sorry, I’ve got a bad knee and it’ll take a second to get up.” Amelia tensed, watching him, ready. The man, stupid fool that he was, apparently, did exactly what he said. Louis skin sparked with adrenaline.

He slipped the loop over the man’s wrists and pulled tight. The man jerked instinctively with a surprised cry, cursing and screaming at them in French. Louis rolled away and onto his feet. He and Amelia grinned and he fought the ridiculous urge to high five her.

“You stupid bitch,” the man screamed, kicking his feet and trying to rock up and off the bench with his arms tied behind him. “I’ll kill you.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.” She punched him in the face. “Louis, put the ball in his mouth.”

He did.

Amelia knelt down on the ground and ran her hand down his leg. The man kicked and jerked his legs, but Amelia held on tight, unfazed. Louis was paying too much attention to the man slobbering all over the ball in his mouth to see exactly what Amelia did next, if he was honest.

He marveled at how distinctly different it was to go from seeing the small red of ball gags in kinky pornos to the stark yellow of a slobbery dog toy. The blood-curdling scream and jerk from the man, his arms flying out behind him so hard that the zip ties cut inches into his skin, and one of his shoulders dislocated, startled Louis.

“What the fuck did you—oh God.” He smelled it. The thick, nauseatingly pungent, copper smell of blood. Lots of blood.

“Severed his Achilles tendon so he can’t try running away anymore.” Amelia grinned up at the man while tears streamed down his face. “Aw, is the little baby sad? Why don’t you tell us where we can find your arms-dealer and maybe we’ll get you to the hospital before you bleed out, huh?”  
Louis had to take a step back from the smell to inhale fresh air, but he raised his eyebrows, impressed. She really was good at this.

“Go to hell,” he growled, his words almost unintelligible through the gag. Almost, but not enough.

Amelia pouted, twirling a lock of hair around on her finger. Her feet were soaked in blood where she was still squatted down next to the man. “Sweetie, I really wish you hadn’t said that.” She pulled a sturdy blade out of her bra and Louis took a deep breath as she slammed it so hard into the space at the start of his kneecap that he was willing to bet it drove into the bench as well. The ball in the man’s mouth popped with the force of him biting down on another scream.

The dog lunged towards Amelia, snarling. Louis put it down without a second thought. It dropped to the ground with a yelp, inches from them. Louis lowered his gun, heart pounding, hands shaking. He didn’t mind the man being tortured, but it was a _dog_ , a truly innocent soul that had only been protecting his master that bothered him. He didn’t bother analyzing that.

The man wailed, spitting curses at them both, but, again, Amelia didn’t even blink. “Tell us where the arms-dealer is,” she said, wrenching the still-buried knife in a circle. The squelching sound of ripping flesh made Louis secretly shiver, though he would never tell anyone that. The man squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, his chest expanding like a tired horse after a race. She jerked the knife out, releasing a stream of blood that had Louis darting out of the way to avoid getting sprayed, and jammed it in the other leg.

“Amelia,” he warned, “you need to take it easy.”

She whirled on him. “Easy? Easy? For fuck’s sake, Louis, he’s about to kill hundreds of people, maybe even millions, and you think I give a _damn_ about going easy on him?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Louis barreled on ahead before she could say anything else. “He’s gonna bleed out before you get your answers if you don’t slow down.”

“Oh. Damn it. Um.” She looked around and then stood up, sliding off her belt. She knelt back down and tied it around the man’s thick thigh. She patted her handiwork as the man screamed behind the gag again. “There. Now you’re all set for at least a few minutes. Now, be a good boy and tell us where your arms-dealer is.” The man shook his head. Amelia sighed, sliced off his ear, and flung it across the park before Louis could blink. “Now you wanna tell me? No? Oh, well, that’s a shame.”

Amelia pouted again, fuchsia pink lips tucked up underneath her teeth, and he was enthralled with the way the burgeoning sunrise lit her hair on fire, throwing sparkles into her eyes. She was beautiful like this, in her element and focused, truly enjoying herself for the first time since he’d met her two weeks ago. She was a sight to behold. He only wished Niall was here to see her too.

She pulled a gun out of the pocket of her dress and aimed it at him. His heart raced. He reached out to stop her. “Amelia, we’re not supposed to—” She shot him through the eye and flinched for the first time when his head blew back and brain matter splattered the grass.

_Well, that was quick._

She turned to him, blood sprinkled across her face. He sighed. “Your ass is grass when Paul finds out about this.”

Amelia shrugged. “You gonna stand there quaking in your boots or help me get rid of this pig and his dog?” Amelia’s eyes travelled to the dog lying in the grass and gave a long, sad sigh, her shoulders slumped. She stroked the dogs fur, frowning, her lip quivering. “Sorry, Trevor, but you were gonna kill me first. Sorry, buddy.”

His heart ached at the twisted compassion in her voice and the way he could tell from the way she was breathing she was about to go into shock or start crying. She needed a distraction. He could hear the birds start to trill in the trees and his hair stood up on end. “Hey, love? We better get going before the sun rises and people notice us.”

She jumped to attention, eyes mysteriously misty, but he knew better than to point it out. At least now he knew what Niall had meant that she was a wildcard. They were only supposed to talk to the man for God’s sake, get information out of him, not kill him and his dog before he could even tell them a thing. Louis sighed. _Mission: failed._

Louis collapsed against the bed with a deep sigh when they finally got to the hotel. He knew his river-wet hair was soaking the sheets, but he couldn’t be arsed to move, frankly. They’d dumped the man, his ear, and his dog in the river and then rinsed their blood-caked bodies until they were clean enough to pass through the hotel without questions.

Amelia grabbed knickers, a long t-shirt, and some neon green body wash out of her suitcase. She leaned on the door frame and turned back to him. “I’m gonna take a shower, you good?”

Louis snorted. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Great.” She gave him one last smile before disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door. Louis watched the shadows of her feet on the tile flicker back and forth until the sound of the water spraying jerked him out of his trance.

 

Hours later, they were polishing off a large Dominos pizza, mozzarella dippers, and a massive bottle of wine, too starved and too drunk to do much but eat, make funny faces over their food, and laugh, again. Amelia tossed a napkin at him and they watched as it fluttered halfway over the king-sized bed and floated to the duvet two inches out of Louis’ reach.

Amelia burst into hysterics watching Louis try to contort his body to grab the napkin without tossing the pizza off his lap and then Louis was laughing too hard to even make it. He ended up wiping his greasy fingers on the bed sheets and cackling as Amelia shrieked at him.

“Ew, don’t wipe your smelly fingers all over our bed.”

“They’re only smelly because you wouldn’t—”

They both froze, hearts pounding. Anyone walking by or sharing their walls would definitely think they were talking about sex right now. They shook with laughter again. Wide-eyed, Amelia put her hands over her mouth, trying to shush him. It was three A.M, someone was going to call up to the front desk and complain, he was sure of it.

All it did was make him laugh harder. Louis flopped back and dragged the pillow over his face, guffawing so loud it sounded like a moan but he just couldn’t stop. His head was swirling from how drunk and lightheaded he was and his stomach hurt from laughing. Clearly this trip was going to go well for them.

 

 

It was four A.M. now and Louis and Amelia were curled up in each other under the duvet, wine-drunk and exhausted, but still too wired to sleep, the smallest undercurrent of vibrations running underneath their skin, the excitement of tomorrow’s events making it hard to sleep. Amelia slid her toes along Louis’ calf. He shivered. “Sorry, it’s just really freaking cold in here.”

“I told you to wear longer trackies.”

“Says the man without socks, you nasty ass. I am as bundled up in PJs as a person can be without wearing a damn parka to sleep.”

“Hence the cuddling,” Louis told her. “It’s fine.” He dragged his finger down her arm lazily and breathed in the scent of her strawberry mint shampoo. “Your hair smells good,” he murmured, too tired to speak any louder.

“Thanks.”

“So, tomorrow’s gonna suck. We probably shouldn’t have drunk so much wine.”

Amelia giggled, hot breaths puffing out against his neck, making him shiver. “You think?”

They were quiet for a while and Louis was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to tell her this, but he decided to anyway. “You know Niall has a thing for you, right?”  
Amelia sighed so long he could feel the weight of her body increase on top of him as her lungs emptied. “Yeah, I know.”

“Do you have a thing for him?”

“No.” She shifted, looking up at him from where her head was on his chest. Her eyes were huge and so very green up close and Louis’ heart ached for a different pair of green eyes. Her wine-stained mouth was open as her eyes searched his, like she was waiting for him to realize something by her silence.

Panic leapt up in Louis’ throat. “Do you, um. Shit. You don’t . . . I-I’m gay, you know that, right?”

“Oh god, yes, Louis,” she groaned. “I know that. That’s not what I meant. I don’t, I mean, I don’t think I have a thing for Niall. Like, he’s cute, and he’s nice, and he’s funny as hell, and we both like soccer—don’t whine, at least I like it—and we’re friends and I like hanging out with him, but I . . . I don’t know.”

“It’s too soon?”

“Yeah.”

“But you like me?” She pulled on his chest hair and he whined. “Ow.”

“Yes, you dork, I like you.”

“Good. As long as I win.”

 

 

Louis woke up as pink and orange shafts of light exploded into their room, throwing everything into a hazy evening glow like sherbet. He stretched and looked over at Amelia curled up on her side like a kitten. She looked peaceful and calm, innocent, almost, like he hadn’t watched her dismember a man on video a few days before. Louis toed off his socks and undressed in the silence, trying to get naked and into the shower before she woke up.

At the last second, he pulled the comforter over her body after noticing the goose bumps on her arms, and tiptoed to the shower. The hot water felt good on his tired muscles and his throbbing hangover, and even though he kinda promised himself he wouldn’t be, like, disrespectful, and wank around Amelia he gave up trying to ignore the coil of heat in his belly ten minutes in. He came with a loud moan that he forgot to stifle before it was too late. He winced. Well, if she wasn’t awake then she was now. Oops.

When he finally got the nerve to shuffle out of the bathroom after taking a ridiculously long time to dry himself off, Louis startled when Amelia raised her eyebrows at him. He had the good grace to blush. “Sorry.”

She snorted. “Don’t apologize to me, apologize to half of Paris.”

As much as he hated it, Louis found himself fighting a smile. She turned her back while he got dressed and he felt grateful for that in a way he couldn’t really explain. After the events of today, he felt more than a little uncomfortable about being so intimate with her and their undercover stint hadn’t even started yet. He sighed and plopped down next to her on the bed. A worn copy of a book jabbed him in the side. He reached over to yank it out from under his ribs while Amelia blushed. “Oh god, what are y—ew. Ew, Amelia Rose, ew. Ew.” It was basically a porn book. “Really?”

“Shut the fuck up,” she whined, burying her face in his pillow, her breath fanning over his shoulder. “Why is it that no one says shit to guys about watching porn, but everyone bitches at girls for reading it? Emotional intimacy is better than just two body parts colliding.”

“Well, to be fair, I don’t think they really collide so much as—”

“Lewis!”  
“Heyyyyy,” he whined, in a way that was eerily reminiscent to Harry Styles. He didn’t like to think about the shudder that went down his spine at the thought of his name. He refused be that pathetic. “Don’t call me that, Amelia Rose.”

“Stop calling me Amelia Rose, it’s not my na—”

A crash and a thud behind them had Louis spinning around and Amelia yelping in fright. A figure had dropped in through their window and gotten tangled up in the curtains. Louis dove for his gun, listening to the man splutter, and cocked his gun. “Stop moving or I’ll shoot.”

The figure waved a hand through the open air. “Oi, calm ya tits, lad. It’s me.”

Louis put the gun down. “Niall, you asshole. Couldn’t use a door like a normal person?”

Behind him, Amelia was panting and Louis glanced back at her. She was bent at the waist, hands on her knees, cheeks bright red. “You okay?”

“Just restarting my heart from that asshole over there,” she answered.

“Nice reaction time there, Denise, love that you would’ve let me be killed.”

“You had it covered,” Amelia snapped.

“Yeah, sure, that’s sweet of you. Very wifely.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that—”

“Oh my god,” Niall groaned. “You two are an old married couple already. Vomit.”

“Why did you drop in our window and not the front door like a normal person again, Ni?” Louis asked, tugging on a pair of socks and his trainers.

Niall jumped to attention. “Oh, that. Um, well, funny story, really. There’s a guy outside your door setting up a bomb.”

Louis jumped to attention, spinning to face the door, the hot sting of adrenaline prickling his skin. The door looked like an ordinary door, but now that he was focused and his senses were on high alert he could hear someone on the other side of it. Of course. He silently cursed Amelia. She had the tendency to make him lose focus and let his guard down too much.

“What?” Amelia shrieked, her face going pale. “Are you kidding me?”

“Oh no, I’m very serious, sorry, love. Turns out you’re being watched for France’s own assignment. Oops.”

“Niall,” Louis barked. “Do you have a plan or did you come to die with us?”

Niall turned tail and ran for the window. “A plan, duh, what kind of handler do you take me for?” He held up a harness with a “tada!”

Louis’ stomach swooped in anticipation. “A zip line? You’re zip-lining us out of here?”

Niall ran his hand along the turnbuckle that secured the cable, and his movement disappeared behind the curtain to a point Louis couldn’t see. “Amelia, you got anything in here that can’t be bought?”

“W-what?”

Louis turned back to her, confused. She was standing on the opposite end of the room, hugging herself, eyes wide, with a pinched-mouth expression like someone had told her that her entire family died. Also, you know, that there was a bomb outside the door. Right, a bomb, they needed to focus.

Niall glanced at her while he helped Louis step into his harness and secure it, and handed him gloves, his voice a little slower, kinda condescending. “Do you have anything in this room we can’t buy with a million dollars? Anything you would absolutely risk literal death to take with you?”

Amelia twisted a half-step to survey the room and raced to the bedside table to grab their IDs and Louis’ burner phone off the counter and spun around with a grin. “Nope, nothing. Let’s go.” She tugged on a carabineer. “Will this hold us?”

Niall scoffed, giving her a dirty look, and tossed her a pair of gloves. “What kind of handler do you take me for?”

She shrugged and wrapped her arms around Louis’ neck, squealing as she jumped up once and settled her legs around his waist. Louis swayed with the impact, grunting a little under her weight. It pulled on the harness around his thighs and his chest tightened with the hope that, regardless of what Niall said, this would hold them both. They were both trembling.

Amelia clutched Louis tighter. “Oh God,” she whimpered. “We’re gonna die.”

“Don’t look down.”

Niall shoved them off the ledge.

One second Louis was on solid ground, the next he was dangling above a Parisian street, praying they weren’t about to meet their deaths on either end. The weightless swoop of his stomach made him snap his eyes shut in case he fainted at the skin-crawling sensation of the free-fall or the vice grip of his Koala-like passenger. Amelia’s shriek was lost to the wind. He could hear nothing but the whistle of the carabineers against the cable and the whip of the wind against their bodies.

“I’ll be right there,” Niall called out, his voice breaking through the white noise. Louis breathed in deep.

And then the building exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amelia Rose Carlyle is a bad ass and I love her to pieces.


	6. "In a flock of flamingos there's only one with two feet on the ground."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, if I wasn’t gay,” Louis slurred, swaying on his feet, “this would be the part where I’d fuck you to escape my grief because I cannot fucking handle him being gone. I can’t.”

“Niall!”

There was nothing but the sound of Amelia wailing Niall’s name in his ear, before the impact of the broken cable had them flying forward and dropping towards the ground. He didn’t know which way was up. Everything swirled around him and Louis’ stomach revolted at the loss of equilibrium.

Louis tightened his hold on Amelia as they tumbled through the air, flipping over and slamming into the glass balcony three storeys below. There were screams, but he didn’t know where they came from. He yelled out in pain at the impact of tiny shards of glass slicing into his skin just in time for an exhausted Amelia to drop from his body in a blur of motion and a newfound weightlessness. Louis hit the ground running and kept on going.

Niall was dead. Niall was _dead._

He was shaking too hard for his fingers to squeeze the carabineers and release the metal rings of his harness and all he could feel was the pain of the open air against all the sliced and bleeding pieces of skin on his body, and the great, hulking sobs wracking his body so hard he could barely stand up without the support of the cable.

Niall was dead, and he couldn’t get this damn harness off, and where was Amelia? And what was the last thing he said to Niall? And oh god, oh god, how would he explain this to Maura and Bobby? And oh god, oh god no. No.

Louis crumpled into a heap on the floor, crying out in pain when the glass embedded in his skin. He couldn’t breathe. Niall was _gone._ His best friend, handler, confidant, his everything and reason for still being alive was dead, and how was he supposed to _move?_

“No, Louis,” Amelia wailed broken. “Oh god, Lou.” She came over to him and knelt down in the glass, pressing her face into his neck as they both sobbed. Louis was shaking, teeth clacking together, fingertips like ice inside his thick gloves, the palms of his hands still burning from his death-grip on the cable.

A fist pounding on the door made them jump. “Security! Open the door or we’ll call the police.”

That shocked them into action, as well as they could when they felt like rusty joints forced to move without oil. They couldn’t afford to talk to the police or hotel security. If they were supposed to be dead no one could know they were alive. Louis dragged the cable with him to the balcony. Hundreds of people had poured into the streets and crowded out on their balconies to see the gutted, smoking, aflame balcony across the street. There were fire engine sirens already screaming down the street.

Louis spared one look at the room that had been his and Amelia’s only minutes before and set his jaw. Niall had died up there and now they would too if they didn’t focus and get out of this hotel unseen. They were off the grid, untouchable, they didn’t exist to anyone in the outside world, and they needed to keep it that way or face the wrath of going back to command.

Louis’ eyes traveled up the cable to the balcony three stories above them. He did an experimental jump, holding the cable in his grasp and found it held. He peered over the side of the balcony. They could repel to ground six stories down and leave from there. He held out his arms to Amelia. She hugged herself, shaking her head. She had tears, snot, mascara and blood streaming down her face. “No. I can’t. I _can’t._ ”

“There is no other way, love.”

Amelia’s face crumpled and she sobbed, even as she moved towards him, and held out her arms. Louis’ heart found more room to ache beyond the pulsing, raw edge of knowing Niall was gone. Amelia wrapped her body around him and Louis took a deep breath before dropping off the edge.

They hung in the air for mere seconds of stomach-plunging weightlessness and then Louis’ feet were on the ground, body swaying as they braced against the impact. Slowly, Amelia peeled herself off him. She was convulsing with the hysterical edge of hyperventilating, her breath coming out in tiny gasps.

“S-safe hou-ouse.”

He blinked. “What?”

“N-Ni-Niall set up a-a safe house for each of us in case things w-went ba-ad so we could la-lay low. But I-I’d like to stay with you, if-if that’s okay?”

Louis nodded immediately. He didn’t even need to think about it. The last thing he wanted was to be alone right now. They peeled off their gloves and walked as quickly as their hurting limbs would allow into the carpark across the street. There, in all their ostentatious glory, sat the three Aston Martin’s Louis, Amelia, and Niall were meant to take to their safe houses. He couldn’t spare a thought for Niall right now, he couldn’t _allow_ himself to, or they would never make it out of here.

When they were inside the isolated cab and speeding down the street as fast as they were allowed, where the rest of the world was shut out and muted like being underwater, Louis remembered the burner phone in his front pocket. He fished it out, dialed three, and said, in the strongest voice he could manage: “In a flock of flamingos there’s only one with two legs on the ground.” Then he snapped the phone in half and tossed it over the bridge into the water below, sending his compartmentalized grief with it.

Amelia’s hand on his arm made him jump. “What does that mean?”

“It’s always been our signal to command when one of us is . . . k-killed in action.”

“Oh.” Amelia hugged herself, nodding. “So, what do we do now? Do they want us to go back?”

Louis shook his head. “No, we go on to the safe house. I . . . I’m not ready to face the world yet. Not a world without him. That isn’t a world, that’s Hell.”

 

They’d been driving for close to an hour when a sudden hiccup-sob from her startled him.

“C-can we stop at the closest gas station, please? T-the glass is killing me.”

Louis’ eyes flicked to her bloody and glass-embedded knees and it reminded him of his own searing agony. Now that the adrenaline rush was fading, everything was slamming into him with a sharpness that pressed in on him from all sides, and the piece of glass in his back keeping him ramrod straight wasn’t helping. Niall being dead, his entire body being a pincushion of glass, it all hurt and the only thing he could allow himself to focus on was keeping his eyes on the road, otherwise he would collapse into the bottomless pit of grief that he knew was waiting to swallow him whole.

“After my family was killed, I completely shut down. I hated everyone, I couldn’t breathe through the agony of it all. I couldn’t even stand to be around Niall. His family got to live, mine didn’t. It didn’t seem fair. All of that just to keep me in line? To make sure I never broke ranks? Never went rogue? Stayed their slave? It didn’t seem fair. Still doesn’t. But Niall, he-he, God.” Louis allowed the choked, hysterical giggle to explode out of him, but it didn’t make his chest feel any lighter.

“He wouldn’t give up. On me. He forced me to see the light again, forced me to keep my h-head above water. He didn’t let me drown in the agony of what it was like to come home and f-find m-my _baby sisters_ . . .” The car jerked as Louis gave a jagged sob and his foot slipped off the gas. Louis blinked away the tears blurring his vision and breathed in deep at the touch of Amelia’s thumbs wiping away his tears. 

“Niall was my anchor in the darkest moments of my life, and now?”

Amelia carded her fingers through Louis’ hair. “You have me. I can be your anchor. I’ll keep you from being dark and twisted.”

 

They pulled into a petrol station and Louis relaxed a little. Finally, he’d get all this damn glass out of his skin. He checked the boot when they got out and _sweet Jesus thank you_ spied a handle of Jack and a first aid kit. He fished out the gauze, bandages, tweezers, and hydrogen peroxide, and thanked their lucky stars Niall had thought to stock their getaway cars beforehand.

They ducked into the bathroom together, wincing in disgust when it smelled like a broken sewer line with dirty water covering the floor. He didn’t want to know what it was. Amelia hopped up on the counter with a whine of pain and presented her legs to Louis.

“Want some Jack? It’ll help.”

Amelia grabbed the bottle from him and down the neck with a cough and gag before she slammed it down on the counter. Amber liquid dripped from her lips, and Louis had a disorienting moment of wanting to lick it off, before he forced himself to focus and squat down to attend to her knees. Now grief was just fucking with him and making him delusional, how fantastic.

“This is gonna hurt like a bitch,” Louis said, and streamed water down her knees until the blood was gone long enough for him to see her skin. Amelia yelped. He had a headache from tilting his head so much to make the glass tint by the time he’d picked out a third of it and let the tiny shards swirl down the sink.

“Oh shit, oh fuck,” Amelia sobbed, biting down so hard on her wrist Louis was afraid the skin would break. For all her talk of not yielding to pain, she was doing a fantastic job of it. He’d let it go in the light of earlier. He was a little rawer too. When he was done, he poured hydrogen peroxide down her knees until they were bubbling and white. She hissed, her nails digging into his shoulder so hard it hurt, but he let her.

He rinsed her skin again, dried it carefully with rags, smeared ointment all over her knees with the palms of his hands, pressed gauze over her kneecap to stop any more blood flow, and covered the entire thing with the largest bandage he could find.

Louis smiled up at her, feeling weathered and stretched, like his skin after sitting in the sun too long. “There, good as new.”

She slipped off the counter and reached for his shirt. He shied away from the feel of her nails on his stomach and shivered. “W-what are you doing?”

Amelia frowned. “Your arm, and, also, your back. You’re covered in glass too.”

He blinked. “Oh. Sorry.” He’d thought . . . it didn’t matter what he’d thought.

Louis stripped off his shirt, careful of his arm, and groaned when the shirt took several large glass shards with it. He leaned over the sink to give Amelia better access and watched her in the mirror. The light touch of her fingertips, like the brush of a feather over his back, had him shivering and unable to look away, scarcely able to breathe. There was a broken bulb in one of the mirrors which flickered on and off like a moth caught in a bug zapper, the light a dark, golden hue, making everything feel smaller, intimate in way that shook him.

Amelia’s left hand, the one that wasn’t digging glass out of his body, was gripping his side, fingers soft and firm into the small of his back. Her palms brought a heat and a focal point for his wandering mind. She was watching him with half-lidded eyes and only the sharp sting of the first glass removal snapped him back into focus and had him inhaling on an aborted breath.

She cleaned him up, slow and careful, her killer’s fingers steady and gentle in a way he’d never experienced before. She sealed the dressing over his wound and, keeping her eyes on him, pressed her mouth to his shoulder, lips warm against his skin. His heart pounded as he watched her eyes flutter closed.

Louis dropped his eyes to the counter, feeling sick. The intimacy of the moment terrified him and he wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he couldn’t pull away. He was gay, always had been, always will be, as far as he was concerned, so what was this?

It was grief, he decided. Someone once told him there was fine line between grief and passion and he needed to remember that. It hadn’t even been two hours since . . . all he needed was some sleep. That was all. Sleep, more alcohol, and a nice long, cathartic cry and he would be fine. He would.

They pulled up to the isolated cabin nestled into the woods and took a deep breath. It was quiet up here, with nothing but the sound of the snow and wind whistling through the trees. Louis felt his hands trembling as they got out of the car. The slam of the doors sounded so loud in the silence. He looked up at the sky, trying to see the moon, but the snow-heavy clouds and fog made it impossible. All he could see was a weak bleed of brighter white in the patch of murky grey, the snow swirling down towards them like falling stars.

Louis yelped as his hands came in contact with the iced-over metal of the boot as he helped Amelia remove their suitcases and whatever else Maura Horan had thought to pack them. The tightness in his chest loosened when he heard the tell-tale clink of bottles in the paper sack he’d picked up. Good, he planned on getting drunk as fuck tonight.

They trudged up to the house, shivering and blowing white clouds of smoke out into the darkness. Louis hoped pieces of his grief were going with it because he wasn’t prepared for it all about to crash down around him. He could feel it as they’d gotten closer to the safe house, how he was shaking, like the vibration of bass beneath his skin. There was a heartbeat on his tongue and between his ears, his whole body throbbing with the pent up emotions trying to get out. It was like there was something clawing at his chest trying to break free but he wasn’t ready yet, he couldn’t. How did he even go about grieving the loss of Niall Horan?

Amelia opened the door while Louis felt along the wall for the light switch. He blinked rapidly, shying away from the sudden flood of light. When he’d recovered, he was shocked, to say the least.

The cabin wasn’t what he’d expected. It was essentially one gigantic room. The kitchen was in the far left corner, a bed in the right, and the living room to their left. Usually, the money afforded to them meant that they could stay in the nicest of places, but he guessed it made sense. This was a cabin in the middle of the woods. They weren’t supposed to attract attention here, they were supposed to fade away into the darkness. Plus, he was meant to be here alone.

They dropped their bags in the middle of the floor and closed the door. Now there truly was no sound in the cabin but the rattling of the wind against the panes. Louis exhaled. His skin still buzzed and he felt itchy and uncomfortable, hot under the collar and freezing all at once. His anxiety made him want to puke. The last thing he wanted to do was start crying right now. He needed to stay busy and keep his heart and mind off Niall and grief or it would swallow him whole and he would never get out.

His hands were shaking.

Amelia lugged her suitcase over to the bed and sat down. Louis couldn’t move. He watched her unpack, focusing on one breath after the next, breathing in, breathing out. When his lungs expanded, his chest puffed out, but the vice-like grip of his anxiety wouldn’t lessen up and he pressed his palms against his heart, trying to relieve the ache. It didn’t work.

He fought every instinct to fold in on himself and curl into a ball to escape, but he couldn’t do that, not with Amelia here. He couldn’t breathe. He felt the shakes in his fingers and the numbness in his toes creeping up his knees, everything hurt and he couldn’t give into it yet. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t survive grieving Niall.

“I hope someone’s feeding Smokestack.”

“Who?”

“My cat. I have a blue Maine Coon. I have a fish too, a beta named Oceana.”

“Oh.” She held up a bottle of shower gel and a loofa. “Um. I’m gonna take a shower. That okay?”

Louis looked at the fridge. “’course. You hungry?”

Amelia shook her head, her face almost crumpling again.

“We need to eat.”

“I-I’m not hungry.”

He nodded. “Neither am I. I’ll throw something together anyway.”

Amelia managed a weak smile then closed the bathroom door behind her. Louis stared at his trembling fingers. He was alone and the silence was deafening. Somewhere, a clock was ticking down the seconds, the quiet _swish-swish_ like the thrum of his heartbeat if he put his hands over his ears and listened hard enough.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four—no. No.

Louis broke out of his trance and moved to the kitchen to see what was in the cupboards and fridge. After fifteen minutes he’d set a can of soup, frozen chicken breasts, packet of thick bacon, and toast on the counter. There was no Wi-Fi, so he couldn’t look up a recipe, but all of this together had to be good, right? He decided to try it. What choice did they have anyway?

To stop his mind from wandering to Niall, Louis kept sharp focus on the tasks needed to bring their dinner together one item at a time. He chopped the bacon and onions and tossed that in a pan to cook. He washed his hands. He found a can opener and popped the soup lid. He put the chicken in hot water to thaw. He toasted the pieces of bread in the oven. He started to turn towards the bathroom to check on Amelia, but stopped halfway. If he lost focus for even a second he would fall apart.

When the bacon was ready and the chicken was slightly thawed, Louis got a small, glass casserole dish from the cupboard, and layered it with toast, chicken, and soup with sprinkled onions and crumbled bacon on top. Now, all that was left to do was wait. And wait. And wait. And become nauseatingly aware of the horror growing within him. Niall was—

Amelia stuck her head out of the bathroom door and a cloud of steam and fruity body wash wafted out in front of her. Her eyes were bloodshot, but he didn’t know if that was from crying or getting shampoo in her eyes, and her hair was soaking wet. She had on the same pair of pajamas as last night and he swallowed hard. Last night, when everything was hilarious because they were drunk and Niall was still—

Amelia crept out of the bathroom, sniffing lightly. “That smells good. What is it?”

“Chicken breasts, bacon, and cream of mushroom soup over toast.”

She wandered over to the kitchen, arms folded underneath her breasts, fingers gripping her side like she was trying to stay afloat just as he was. “C-can I have some?”

Louis chuckled. He knew they’d both get hungry after a while. “Yeah, of course. It’s not ready yet, but I made enough for the next few days in case we get snowed in or something.”

Amelia’s gaze wandered to his suitcase still sitting by the door. “Do you want me to unpack your stuff?”

“N-no, I can do it.” Louis rushed to grab it before she could move. There was a prickly awkwardness underneath his skin and he hated it. Looking her in the eye felt weird and it made him antsy. He needed something to keep his mind occupied again, and what easier way to do that than the mindless, rote of unpacking and folding clothes into a wardrobe? They were going to be here for a least a week, they might as well.

Louis figured that if he organized his wardrobe by color and item it took greater time, but then realized he really didn’t have a variety in this suitcase, so he put black, grey, and white trackies and joggers in the bottom, colorful jumpers and t-shirts above that, with socks and pants in the top drawer. He was finished in a matter of minutes. Shit. Louis looked down at his lap, feeling dread climb up his throat. Sooner rather than he’d have no excuse to keep ignoring Amelia.

“Louis,” she murmured, her gentle fingers threading in his hair. “Louis, look at me.”

He huffed a breath, pulling away and trying not to puke. “No.”

The timer went off and he jumped, sighing with relief. Finally.

He heard her rise from the bed and get bowls out of the cupboard. He took one last look at the wardrobe and rose to his feet. He would have to face her eventually, it might as well be now. He steeled himself for making eye contact with her and set his jaw. She was cradling two bowls in one arm, all their silverware in the other hand, and looking at him expectantly.

He felt his cheeks turn pink and headed for the fridge to see if they had anything to drink. There was nothing. Excellent. He sighed. “Do you want water or tea?”

“Water is fine for now. Tea later, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Louis busied himself getting the glasses from the cupboard, filling them at the tap, and tossing several ice cubes in from the freezer. He set them down on the table a little harder than necessary. She jumped. “Sorry.”

He sat and watched Amelia chewing carefully, rolling it around in her mouth, a frown on her face, like she was trying to decide if it tasted good. He didn’t blame her. He took a bite and the involuntary noise he made startled them both. He thought it tasted good, objectively, but it was hard to take in the simple pleasure of eating when the rest of him felt scraped raw and stretched thin.

They ate and cleaned up in silence, like everything else since Niall pushed them off that ledge. He washed, she dried. Afterwards, he took a shower and as his body relaxed and softened from the heat and steam, Louis fought not to break down once again. The steam was cloying, breaking through the layers of fog and numbness until he was red-hot and sick from the heat while the clarity and enormity of his loss pressed in like closing walls, but he wasn’t ready. _Not yet. Not yet, not yet, not yet._

He stayed under the spray until it ran cold.

Louis came out of the bathroom in joggers and his thickest jumper. Despite Amelia having turned up the heat, he still couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t rub the goose bumps from his skin, and feel his bones settling. Amelia was curled up at the head of the bed, one leg stretched out, the other bent to her chest. She had a full glass of dark, amber liquid draped over her knee and the bottle of Jack propped up against it, socked feet poking under the covers.

She rolled towards him, smiling lazily, firelight flickering off her hair and the glass in her hand. “I’m on my second glass. Catch up.” She held the bottle out to him and Louis put it to his lips and choked back as much as he could without coughing. Of course he wasn’t as slick as he liked to think, so he ended up spilling a lot of it down his shirt. Amelia giggled. The sound hurt his ears. He handed the bottle back to her and went to get himself a glass too. If he was going to catch up to Amelia he had to do it properly.

 

He was on his second and a half glass and drunk as fuck before a thought occurred to him. “You know, if I wasn’t gay,” Louis slurred, swaying on his feet, “this would be the part where I’d fuck you to escape my grief because I cannot fucking handle him being gone. I can’t.”

Amelia swallowed hard, her glassy eyes squeezing shut. “Duly noted.”

It might’ve been hours before Amelia spoke again. Or maybe she’d been trying this entire time and he hadn’t noticed until now. He could feel the weighted pause between his blinks as he looked at her. Her bloodshot eyes met his. The alcohol was a rushing river bubbling underneath his skin, keeping him warm as a snowstorm raged on outside, keeping his bones lose and mind swirling.

“Why flamingos?”

“What?”

“Your signal to command, why flamingos?”

“Oh.” Louis tried to corral his mind into remembering something coherent, but the walls had barely begun to spun and the firelight was captivating, hypnotic. “You know how flamingos stand on one leg to conserve body heat because of the water?”

She shook her head.

“Well, they do. It’s, like, a mixed anylog—analog—anololo—no, analogy. Analogy. Yeah, analogy. Ni came up with it. It sounded cool so we stuck with it.”

“Oh.” He nodded, taking another long pull from his glass and watching the fire dance inside the liquid like trapped gems. “Is . . . is this weird for you?”

“What?”

“Me? Like, feeling this so . . . intensely? I mean, you knew Niall for eight years, I only knew him for two weeks.”

“Ni-Niall just . . . gets under people’s skin. You meet him and you, like, fall into him instantly. Fall in love with his personality, his heart, his everlasting enthusiasm for life.” Louis let out a hitched breath, trying desperately to smile past the tears in his eyes and not collapse like a star. _This is not your demise,_ he thought, _this is your rebirth,_ even as he knew everything inside him felt like a black hole. He sniffed. “Niall is everything, basically.”

Amelia turned her face into her knee and murmured something so soft Louis almost missed it. Almost. “What?” He scrambled backwards off the bed and fell to the floor in a dizzying heap. He stood up, gripping the bed for help, trembling so hard he could barely stay on his feet, but he was drunk and about to splinter apart, tensed for it, like the shattering glass in Paris. “W-what did you just say to me?”

She rolled her head to the side, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Was. I said was. He was everything.”

“Shut the fuck up, Amelia.”

“Louis,” she sobbed desperately. “He’s not coming back.”

“How do you know that? You didn’t even see him, you had your face against my neck, I remember. _I remember.”_

“Because I looked up. I looked up right when I heard the explosion, there was _nothing_ there, Louis.”

“We should’ve gone back, we should’ve looked harder, we should’ve made sure.”

“We didn’t have time, we couldn’t get caught, we’re supposed to be dead, Louis, you know that.”

“But it’s _Niall,_ we should’ve—”

She got up, crossed the room, and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her, until their noses were touching and he couldn’t see anything but the starry green of her tear-filled eyes. “Louis, I promise you, if I had any doubt at all, if I even thought for a single second he could still be alive I’d raze the goddamn Earth with you to get him back, I swear I would—but he’s _gone_ and he isn’t coming back.”

Amelia sobbed out the last part, but all Louis could hear was the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his chest as he dropped to the floor. His mouth fell open like a cavern as he curled in on himself, hands digging into his thighs so hard he broke the skin, but he couldn’t feel any more pain than the shrill scream tearing from his throat.

There was a weight on his chest pushing down so hard it hurt to breathe, every ragged breath scraping his closing throat and he panicked, clawing at his chest, begging for the ringing to stop. “No, Niall,” he wailed.

Amelia pulled him into her arms, his face in her lap and the weight of her chest over his back. They were holding each other, like they could possibly keep each other from falling apart, but everything inside Louis felt like it was already shattered. He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t.

“Niall is dead and it’s our fault. We should have been paying attention. It’s our fault. If you and I hadn’t been making out in the hallway he would still be alive. If we’d been paying attention we would’ve used our heads and called command to tell them we—you—killed that man against orders. If you’d just left him alive maybe—”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” They were screaming at each other and he couldn’t stop.

“For fuck’s sake, we should have seen this coming. We should have known there was a bomb. We should’ve been paying attention and we weren’t because you fuck me up and I can’t focus.”

“You fuck me up too, Louis,” she screamed. “I am better than this, goddamn it, I am a killer. I did what was necessary. I am good at my job, I don’t get emotional, I don’t get attached, I don’t lose focus like I do around you.”

“He shouldn’t have even needed to be there to protect us.”

“What would you like us to do, Louis? Either way one of us would be dead right now. Even if you’d gone first, or if you went in the middle, one of us would be _dead.”_

“And I wish it was me! I fucking wish it was me.” He looked around, feeling lost and like he was spinning out of control, like the snowflakes outside. “I wish it was me. I wish it was me.”

Louis dropped to his knees like a puppet with the strings cut and sobbed against the carpet. He couldn’t breathe, everything hurt, and nothing would ever be okay again. Louis cried until it felt like his head would explode and Amelia curled herself around his back, holding on just as tightly.

_Niall is gone, Niall is gone, Niall is dead and he’s never coming back. Niall is gone forever and I am alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that yummy af recipe is literally just cream of mushroom soup, bacon, chicken, over Texas Toast (or whatever your regional equivalent/closest match is). My cousin and I created it on accident one time when we were trapped in the house and starving and boom - my new favorite meal.
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter tbh. I don't think it had quite the emotional impact I wanted, but idk let me know, I guess.


	7. Stop, before you fall, into the hole that I have dug here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and Amelia are snowed in and grief is a bottomless pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Lose You by Pete Yorn.

Louis woke up.

There was no blissful moment of ignorance, no hazy fade into consciousness where he forgot all about Niall, no precious few seconds where his world wasn’t irrevocably ruined. He was immediately and sharply aware of the gravity of his loss. He sat up, groaning, his whole body hurt from the floor. His shoulders and left hip were tender to the touch. He must’ve slept on his back and his side most of the night. He stood up and stretched.

“Morning.”

He spun around, heart pounding, to face Amelia leaning up against the kitchen counter, a mug of tea in her hand. “Shit, you scared me. Morning. What time is it?”

“Five o’clock.”

Louis glanced to the window where weak sunlight streamed in over the lip of a snow bank. He frowned. “Wait, in the afternoon? Seriously?”

“Has it ever been this light outside at five in the morning?”

“Oh. Well, morning to you too.”

She held out the mug to him. “Tea?”

He took it gratefully and whimpered as the first warm, sweet sip made him shiver. He tried to look out the window, but all he saw was white. Amelia chuckled. “Oh, that. Yeah, we’re snowed in.”

“What?” he cried, almost dropping the mug.

“Yeah, I woke up earlier and tried to go outside. We’re blocked in by, like, five feet of snow.”

He hurried to the front door to check and she was indeed right. Not only did bitterly cold wind gust into their cabin, but some snow fell onto the floor. Louis’ stomach sank. “Shit.” He snorted. “Well, at least we have enough food to last us, I hope.”

Amelia grimaced. “Yeah. I’m surprised they didn’t load us up on supplies, knowing we’d have to hide out like this if anything wen—um, we-ent wrong.” Louis shuddered. “Anyway, I made some grilled cheese. Want one?”

“You grilled cheese?”

“No, like, grilled cheese sandwiches?”

“I-I don’t know what that is.”

“Seriously?” Amelia walked over to the stove and picked a sandwich out of the pan and held it up. The cheese oozed out and stuck to the skillet and she popped a piece in her mouth with a smile. “You’ve never had one of these? They’re good.”

“Oh. We call those cheese toasties. Yeah, I’ve had them.”

“Ugh. Your stupid words. Whatever. Want some?”

He took one, inhaling gratefully, as the smell of melted cheese and grease went straight to his grumbling stomach. His fingers were covered in grease. He idly wiped them on his pants with a smile, he could already hear Niall in his head scolding him for it. Louis froze. He almost dropped the sandwich.

Her face crumpled. “I-I miss h-him.”

“Stop,” he whispered, tears springing to his eyes and stinging his nose. “Stop. I can’t.”

“We have to. Louis, we have to.” Amelia bridged the gap between them and took the mug out of his hands, forcing him to look at her. “Louis, we have to talk about it.”

“Why?” he begged, shaking in her grasp. “I . . . he can’t be gone. He ca-an’t.” He broke down and sobbed against her neck, holding onto her for dear life. “He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.” He pulled out of her arms and headed towards the bed. He didn't want to eat anymore.

“Louis, you need to eat.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

“He’s never going to be able to eat again and I do-on’t w-want to-to,” he blubbered, collapsing onto the bed, his whole body shaking as he curled up into a ball, gripping the sheets, like they could possibly make the pain stop. Every sob shook the bed and made the old mattresses springs squeak like they hadn’t been used in years. He couldn’t stop crying.

All he could think about was how Niall would never get to smile, or laugh, or eat, or see his parents, and Greg or Theo ever again. He was gone. Completely gone. He just . . . didn’t exist anymore.

Louis gritted his teeth, trying to keep his crying quiet. He hated being so emotional, even over Niall. He was an assassin, he needed to be strong. He didn’t want to cry, he didn’t want to sound so weak and helpless, but he was. His compass, his guiding light in a never-ending sea of darkness was gone and how was he supposed to survive this?

He felt the bed dip as Amelia crawled in after him and pull gently on his shoulder. He rolled over, taking hulking gasps of air in an effort to catch his breath and stop hyperventilating, but he met Amelia’s eyes and everything fell apart all over again. He exploded in noisy sobs, his hands trembling even as he tried to reach for her and drag her towards him. She kissed his forehead and pulled him close as he wept against her chest, trying not to scream. No one could hear them out here and for once he was grateful for the isolation.

His body wracked with sobs and his chest felt like it was cracking open and he hoped his heart would go with it, spill out onto the bed sheets like a rock down a hill, and finally let him rest in peace. He didn’t want to feel how badly this hurt, the agonizing loss of Niall Horan simmering in his veins.

The worst kind of crying, he’d always thought, was the noisy and helpless kind. The kind of bawling where he couldn’t breathe in without hyperventilating, and try as he might, he kept making those ugly wailing noises that would not stop, like a little kid that howled until they puked and then passed out from exhaustion. He hated it the most, yet in the past two days it seemed to be all his body knew how to do anymore.

Louis and Amelia cried until they couldn’t anymore, and then they slept.

 

Louis woke up, bleary-eyed and blinking to adjust his eyes to the darkness. He was starving, his stomach felt like it was eating itself, and he couldn’t deny it anymore. He slipped out of Amelia’s arms, carefully trying not to wake her, and padded to the kitchen. The weak moonlight spilled across the kitchen in blue and silver smudges, his feet bleeding shadows all over the cheap linoleum.

Their cheese toasties were still in the pan, cold and hard, but his stomach grumbled noisily when he took the first bite and sank his tongue into the grease. He swallowed back a groan. These were good. With a hint of garlic and onion powder, he was hard-pressed to remember when he’d had better in years, or maybe he was emotionally and physically exhausted and hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days.

A soft moan, a hitched breath, and a rustle of sheets from the darkness on the other side of the room alerted Louis to Amelia’s wakefulness. “Hey,” he murmured, not wanting to startle her.

She rolled over and sat up, rubbing her eyes with a scrunched face, blinking against the moonlight. “God, it’s four in the morning. What are you doing?”

“Eating.”

Amelia perked up at that, her eyes flying open. “Ohh, I want some.”

Louis leaned against the sink, hip popped and digging into the hard counter tops. He huffed a laugh. “It’s not going anywhere. Come get some.”  
In minutes, two more frying cheese toasties filled the air. He watched with fascination. “I didn’t even know you could do them in a skillet. That’s so weird.”

Amelia glanced at him, her dark hair swinging over her shoulder, flashing navy underneath the moonlight. “Funny, I could say the same about you.” Her skin was a pale, watery silver all washed out like this in the frosty air, the thin straps of her tank top like a black line down her back.

On impulse, he crossed the space between them and put his chin on her shoulder, huddling up to her back. She shivered and leaned back into him. “Hi. Sorry, it’s freezing. Can we go back to bed soon? I’m so cold.”

She snorted. “Can you let me eat first?” Louis nodded, moving her shoulder back and forth as he did so. She took a spatula out of the nearest drawer, pressed her sandwiches down a few times and then transferred them to a plate. He moved away to give her space to eat and watched her inhale the first one without even looking up. When she did, she dragged a greasy hand through her hair, sighing. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

He froze, distinctly feeling the congealed butter like a stone in his throat. “F-for what?”

“This whole . . . thing. I mean, it was your very first mission with me and it . . . it went bad.”

Louis shivered. His feet were cold on the linoleum floor. “Ditto. I-I guess.”

“So, what do we do now? Wait for someone to come get us, or can we leave whenever we want?”

“We’re snowed in, remember?”

“I know, but if we weren’t. Could we leave? What’s the protocol here?”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, thinking. “Well, it’s been years since I’ve needed to use a safe house, but they’ll probably come get us. I’m sure by now they kn—I-I’m sure they’re making arrangements.”

Amelia turned around to face the stove again, her eyes hidden by a slat of darkness. “Louis . . . what will we do now?”

“Wait for someone to get us or for the snow to melt.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” She was gripping the oven door so hard he could see her knuckles from there. His chest seized up and the words got jammed in his throat. Feeling his nose stinging, he left her side and crawled back in bed, pulling the covers completely over him until he was cocooned in warmth.

Louis shut his eyes against the sting of tears. He didn’t want to cry anymore. His cheeks felt tight and stretched from dried tears and slimy snot, his throat was raw from sobbing, and his bones were weary from the ache of winter and unmatched grief—he couldn’t cry anymore.

Amelia crawled into bed next to him, sliding forward until they were pressed together, clinging to each other like the tides of their grief wasn’t drowning them both. She kissed his throat softly. Her lips were warm against his skin, and he shivered, swallowing hard. He was grateful for the tactile comfort attempting to keep him grounded. “I’m glad we’re together in this,” she whispered. “I couldn’t imagine either of us going through this alone.” She tucked her face into the nape of his neck and he sank back into her body and fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

Louis turned off the TV. Amelia jumped like someone had shocked her and turned to look at him. They’d had a marathon of Friends on all day, but he hadn’t actually seen a second of it, and he doubted she had either. His mind wouldn’t stop racing, but at the same time he was too numb and exhausted to think. It was a strange paradox. The cold sunshine spilled in through the very top of the front window, bathing his bare toes in soft yellow light and warmth. He stretched out on the couch, toes slipping underneath her thighs. She stuck her tongue out at him and passed him the bottle of wine again.

When they’d woken up this afternoon, he’d found bottles of rosé in the very back of the cabinet. After making pasta for lunch, they’d steadily been working on finishing it all off over the course of the last few hours. It wasn’t like they had anything to do anyway. Until the snow melted, they were stuck in this cabin, and who knew when that would be.

Louis sighed, feeling a vague throbbing sensation somewhere in his head. He’d spent the past few days with Amelia either sleeping, getting drunk, or bawling his eyes out. He didn’t know how to breathe anymore without the oppressive weight of grief infecting every bone in his body like a sickness. He felt weak and achy and stopped-up like he had the flu, but he wasn’t sick, just heartbroken and free-falling into this bottomless pit of grief he didn’t think could ever end.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“What?”

“Your real name, what is it? I mean, I know it can’t be Amelia Rose Carlyle, we’re never supposed to give our real names.”

Amelia raised her eyebrows at him, a mischievous smile on her face. “Oh, and I suppose Louis William Tomlinson isn’t your real name, then?”  
Louis smirked. “I’ll never tell.”

She burst out laughing. “Okay then, Gossip Girl, you don’t get to know mine either. Not that you could find a trace of me online if you Googled it, I’m pretty sure America’s command was pretty good at erasing me from existence.”

He frowned, a heaviness on his chest again, as if it had ever left. “Oh. So, your family, they’re . . .?”

“Alive. Thank God. Alive . . . but I can never go back to them. I-I don’t know if they think I’m missing or dead, but . . . I just don’t exist anymore.” She sucked her pink bottom lip into her mouth, worrying it with her teeth, before she met Louis’ gaze again, her green eyes filled with tears. “I miss them, you know?”

He did. “Yeah, I get that.”

Her eyes widened and her hands flew over her mouth, tears slipping down beneath her fingers. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. God, I’m so selfish. Of course you—God, I’m an asshole.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay, it will never, ever be okay, but, like, I know you didn’t mean it.”

“If-if you ever wanna talk about it, about them, or about h-him, you know I’m here, right? I may not get it, I may have never been through it myself, but I can always listen.”

Louis nodded, lock-jawed. He didn’t ever want to talk about them. If he did, it might make him want to murder Niall’s entire family all over again, and he’d done so, so well moving past that urge over the years. It wasn’t fair that Niall’s family got to live while his didn’t. It wasn’t fair that he’d been plucked from uni right when the rest of his life was supposed to start.

The biggest worry on his mind should’ve been which flavor of pot noodles to eat on nights he was skint, or nightmares about sleeping through an exam in an important class, not if he’d have the reflexes to slice his victim’s throat open in a pinch, or the hand-eye coordination to shoot them running full-tilt through a warehouse in the dark. None of it was fair, none of it was right, but that’s the way it was and no amount of agonizing pain that felt like his flesh was being stripped from his bones would bring any of them back—Niall included.

"Louis? I have to tell you something."

The fragility in her voice jolted Louis from his thoughts, and when he looked at her there were tears in her eyes.

“I lied to you. About Niall. You asked me if I liked him, and I said no, but that-that was a lie. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, I don’t know when . . . but I can’t get him out of my head. I _couldn’t_ get him out of my head. And it really freaked me out because I’m only here for the summer, until we catch these people, and then I’m gone. What good would it have done if we started something and I just left two months later and never saw him again? I just . . . and now it’s too late and I can’t get him out of my head and all I want is for him to know that I thought about him, that I-I liked him back. He gave me butterflies. Like some damn middle schooler. And now everything hurts because he’s dead and he’s never going to know. Fuck. Fuck!” She bolted up and threw her glass of tea at the wall. It exploded in a million pieces, raining glass around the room, and Amelia collapsed on the floor, sobbing. “Fuck.”

 

Louis woke with a start, his heart thundering, trying to stay perfectly still until his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. He had no idea what had startled him in the middle of the night, but something had.

There, in the darkness, he saw it: a silhouette against the window, the briefest flicker of black against white. It moved.

Someone was in their cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl that last part had me turning on all the lights in my house at 3AM. I hate the dark....
> 
> I just marathoned all of HTGAWM and I can't stop crying so in honor of my love for Rebecca and Wes you get an extra conversation between Amelia and Louis about Niall. :(


	8. where I'm at and where I'm going

Hiiiiiiiiii ok so this isn't a real update and I apologize, but I wanted to at least let y'all know why I haven't updated in over a year.

I took what was supposed to be a small break from this story to finish up edited YMASDOOM for publication....... and then Zayn left. Cue me not feeling like writing for months. And then everything else awful happened in this fandom and it's kind of been a non-stop shit fest for over a year now...

Aaaaaaaaaanyway, I DO have plans to continue this, I swear, BUT I've spent a lot of time thinking about it and talking to actual people who've suffered from various mafias in their cities and countries and I'm not comfortable writing about that anymore. I want to change it up to something else, kinda B613-esque or something similar, but I'm not quite sure how to do that yet, but I'm working on it!

I'm still so passionate about this story and this world and most of all this love story that's still so close to my heart, I just really want it to be the best it can be, which means it's taking a lot longer to get it right and come up with a world that I can really immerse myself and you guys in and be proud of.

You can still see what I'm up to if you'd like over at harryandlouisarehappilystrong.tumblr.com!

\- L.Z. Catalina

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have any betas, but it would be super, super lovely if any of you feel the desire to beta for me -- just send me a tweet or a comment! :)
> 
> (a Brit-pick-er would also be nice)
> 
> Twitter: @LarryS_IS_Real or @LZCatalina  
> Tumblr: harryandlouisarehappilystrong.tumblr.com


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